


Choices

by saijanbulma



Category: Dragonball, Dragonball Z
Genre: F/M, Long, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2018-05-24 09:58:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 134,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6149875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saijanbulma/pseuds/saijanbulma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was choice that originally took him to Earth, a choice to defy orders and take control of his own life. But for every decision we make there is a splinter universe in which we didn't, in which we took the other road. This is a story about one of the other roads. </p><p>Radditz doesn't go to Earth. Bulma doesn't go to Namek. Goku never died when he was meant to and the Earth never has a chance to prepare for Freeza's forces by the time they finally absorb it. Bulma is abducted and forced to reproduce Capsule Tech. Vegeta is the last of his race struggling to endure a life of subjugation under his tormentor. There are rebel forces, intergalactic space battles and the retelling of one of anime and manga's favourite love stories.</p><p>We are defined by the choices we make. That sentiment, though not original, provides both the title and premise for this alternate universe work about one of the most intriguing pairings in, well, the universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I would like to dedicate this work of fanfiction to Saiyanhajime, of Tumblr fame, for being the one to read over my initial story plan for this, and who encouraged me to make it a reality. Without his support I would never have started nor continued to write. This is the best tribute I can think of to thank him for his bottomless support and help with this, my first piece of writing in over ten years.

 

It shone blue on the bridge display, round and covered in water, looking remarkably bright against the blackness of space. The planet was unremarkable in itself, with no exceptional statistics being reported by the ship’s computer, but it had a thriving and balanced natural ecosystem and a vast area of unused land-mass that was not lost on its current observer. As it grew bigger on the display the landmasses came into sharper focus and tiled images in columns either side of the main view showed the land itself in greater scale, revealing the settlements of its native population. There were great stretches of empty landscape dotted with tiny villages, connected by a network of dirt and paved roads to what were apparently cities, built tall and round and apparently ignorant of the vast space available at their borders. The roads in between were traversed by primitive vehicles that crawled on wheels, leaving trails of dirty fossil fuel, while overhead bulky and inefficient flying vehicles made their way across the landscape. No significant power readings, no impressive military or infrastructure, just acres and acres of fertile land, powered by a healthy middle-aged sun and with natives already perfectly suited to the task of cultivating it, with the right sort of supervision of course.

“In conclusion, my initial findings would indicate that designation F-735 is of far more use to the Empire as a resource planet rather than a sale planet. Its position at the edge of our current borders and already available work-force is too valuable to be given over lightly to a buyer, and reports already indicate a great deal of mineral resource under the surface. I recommend integration over the scheduled purging in this case and request permission to proceed with this new course as the mission requires.” Prince Vegeta indicated he had finished recording his message to the waiting enseign, who obediently transmitted it to Primary Headquarters.

And now the wait as the Emperor’s underlings dallied about with the comms, tried to palm it off on the lower ranking Officers and then finally, reluctantly brought the audio to Lord Freeza himself, who would roll his red eyes, pour another glass of his foul wine, perhaps take a stroll and then, finally, send some shallow reply via a pompous minion expressing his displeasure at having been addressed for so menial a request with whatever instruction he saw fit. And of course the message had to get there first.

The Prince, sometimes referred to as Prince-Captain Vegeta by his more ingratiating crewmen, sat back in his seat and repressed a sigh. He had become very good at repressing sighs, and at waiting. He could sit in that chair, in one position, staring intently at the displays for as long as it took, one hand hovering calmly over his control panel. This, however, could take up to a cycle. Recorded messages rather than direct comms were not treated with the expediency often required, but he knew better than to try to open a direct comm without particular reason. He passed command to a competent underling with his usual brusqueness and left the bridge.

He returned to his quarters, ignoring every crewman who snapped to attention and bowed as he passed. When the doors had slid firmly shut he brought up the ship’s computer again and began to work through the less pithy data that had been gathered by both roaming satellites and by the ship’s own advanced sensors.

The length of the planet’s year, the length of its axis revolution, the relation of it’s moon to its weather system, its core and average temperatures, its estimated age, temperature dispersal and so on, in such data analysis did he pass the hours it took for his First Commander’s permanently frightened face to flash up on his screen.

“Prince Vegeta, sir, HQ1 has responded. Should I broadcast to the bridge, sir?” Asked the tentative, tinny voice.

“No. Just here.”

He was glad of that decision the moment the message began to play, and a familiar, derisive voice issued from the computer speakers.

“Lord Freeza sends his regards,” drawled Zarbon, Freeza’s right hand lap-dog and general assistant, “and informs you that you may proceed to integrate F-735. He trusts that you will fulfill your mission in the time already allocated and will expect a full report before the end of the next Cycle.”

In the allocated time. Vegeta suppressed a growl. The time allocated had been for a purge, that lizard knew very well that integration took at least three times the length! They couldn’t just move in and simply neutralise every life-form, that would be too easy. There would be natives to subdue, damage to clear, atmospheres to terraform, and one cycle to make a report was a joke. Cycles in Freeza’s empire were the length of one day on Freeza’s home planet and while long by average standards were hardly long enough to complete the mission, let alone compile a thorough report. This was his idea of a joke, Vegeta knew it.

“First Commander, land immediately and order all troops to be at embarking stations, now!” He barked through a communication panel.

He didn’t wait for any response, as absolute compliance was the only expectation, and ripped off his soft white boots and half-length cape. A landing party was no place for pomp and circumstance, instead he briskly pulled on a darker pair of practical boots, checked over his armour and swept out of his lavish quarters. He’d had the mirrors removed when he first acquired the ship, but he didn’t need them to know why the men he passed on his way to the embarking zone never looked directly at him; not one man on this ship had ever looked him in the eye. He felt a familiar itch in the right side of his once symmetrical face. He ignored it, as always.

 

* * *

 

To the simple farmers and village-folk who gathered to observe it, the landing of the round, ungainly craft was astounding. They watched with unfrightened interest as it descended earthwards, revolving gently as it neared the ground. It shot great flaming jets of burning air Earthward as it slowed for its final descent, and without any visible landing gear, settled itself impressively on the surface of the Earth. The humans of course had seen flying crafts before, and had some idea that others of their species had made forays into space travel, but this was the first time they laid eyes on such a huge ship. They had no doubt that the inhabitants were human, they hadn’t imagination enough to think differently. They might have taken a moment to appreciate the peaceful years they’d spent in their retired little village a little more had any of them some power of foresight.

*   *   *

Why were there always fires? No matter how efficiently his men tore through the landscape, and despite his orders to quell the natives quickly and without diversion they always managed to set at least one damned settlement on fire. Vegeta shook his head and turned away from the distant plumes of smoke to check the progress of the men left behind.

The ground troops were setting up Base One. The ship they landed in was modular in construction, with the crew quarters, engineering, bridge and everything contingent to space travel situated in the outer and uppermost portions of it’s squat, round body. Beneath the great body of the thing was the dome of the detachable base, currently nested within the centre of the huge craft. There was a good deal of shouting going on as gear and vehicles were unloaded from the main body in preparation for the separation, which from the clanking and metallic throbbing issuing from the ship, was incipient. Vegeta had always considered with some unaccountable discomfort that the process was akin to his ship laying an egg on the surface of the unsuspecting planet, like some grotesque parasitic wasp.

With an ear splitting shriek that gave way to a great rumble the machinery separated from itself and the ship began to lift away from the ground, revealing as it did so the smooth surface of the base, gleaming in the sunlight. Semi-transparent and perfectly round with a build-up of burnt earth around its edge, it looked like some monstrous, mechanical pustule on the surface of the planet.

The hub ship ascended now, heading up and eventually out of the planet’s atmosphere to orbit and continue collecting data. As Vegeta’s forces spread across the land, the hub would continually scan for hazards from its vantage point in orbit and record the progress of the mission, sending relevant data to the base below. By this method Vegeta would systematically seek and target all military hotspots, all points of major resistance and with a structured assault on the natives’ defence and communication infrastructure cripple them before they even knew it was an invasion. He was perfectly, coldly methodical.

“Prince-Captain Vegeta, sir!”

The ‘Prince-Captain’ was snapped out of his mental inventory and he turned to observe the lower crewman, whose uniform marked him as a corporal, in charge of the arrivals and departures of platoons.

“Report.” He snapped mechanically.

“Yes sir. The first wave of troops have returned with captives sir.”

“And?” He demanded tersely of the corporal, who was young and like most of his men clearly petrified.

“They have, uh, well sir, we think you might want to see what they brought back.” He gulped. “Sir.”

‘What they brought back’ did not immediately impress their Captain. Indeed, when he was wordlessly handed a small tin box full of what looked like tiny medicine bottles with buttons instead of lids his immediate concern was who he ought to murder first for daring to slow up their already tight schedule for this nonsense. Sensing his disapproval a soldier hastily fetched a native captive and ordered him to demonstrate the technology.

The native was a small, sun-browned little man, wearing hardy mud-caked overalls and whose calloused hands trembled as he fumbled with one of the little bottle-like things.

“What is this?”

“I-it’s called a capsule.” He tremored in response to Vegeta’s sharp demand, staring resolutely at his feet, “We use ‘em to s-store stuff.”

“I don’t see what you could fit of any use in that.”

A soldier cut eagerly across the captive, “Just wait and see what it does, sir.”

The little man had successful depressed the button in his hand and threw the capsule at the nearest space available. The soldiers who had not yet observed the technology in action gasped and swore, and were immediately stunned into awed silence; where the capsule had landed there now appeared in a poof of de-compressed gas a complete vehicle, stamped with a large black ‘C’ within a black circle.

“Where can I find more of these?” Vegeta demanded.

“Capsules? We -we just buy them from the store, mister. I think they make them over in the big city at Capsule Corp, I-” His words died in his throat. He was too frightened to be of further use.

It struck Vegeta that at one time or another this pathetic creature with his impotent terror and his utter uselessness would have inspired him with fury, that he’d have destroyed him to vent his frustration and what an utter waste of his energy that would have been. He turned instead to the corporal.

“Find out what these are and where they’re produced. Send messages to the foot soldiers to be on the lookout for these capsules and anything related to this ‘Capsule Corp’, and tell them to continue with the first wave as planned and to keep to schedule. We’ve already taken too long.”

“Yes, sir, and the captive, sir…?”

“What about the snivelling wretch? Put him with the rest of the workforce you bumbling-”

Vegeta’s scouter-mounted communicator began to beep at him urgently, and the careful observer would have caught a momentary flinch of pain on the Prince’s otherwise impassive features. He raised a gloved hand to the side of his face and answered the call, turning coldly away from his corporal.

“What now?”

“There has been no progress in the mountain areas South of Base Camp sir, and soldier life signs in that area are disappearing.” The tinny voice in his ear informed him. “We’re also beginning to pick up power levels much higher than previously reported by the satellites. One is at least a 1.2, should I recall a class 1 squad?”

The class 1 squads were typically units of much higher than average strength, tasked with neutralising the military strongholds of newly invaded planets. With the schedule he was forced into it would be insupportable to redirect their efforts.

“I’ll go myself. Order the troops currently in the area to amass at the first point of ingress and I’ll meet them there. Send me their coordinates.”

And without waiting for the coordinates he took to the air, and streaked off to the South.

*   *   *

When he arrived at the scene of confusion not one of the assembled soldiers could answer Vegeta’s inquests to any degree of satisfaction. None of them had actually seen the reported assailant and even those that had picked up the power reading could now no longer find it.

“What are you telling me?” He demanded. “How the hell can a power level just appear then disappear?”

“We don’t know, sir, it doesn’t make sense.” The soldier quailed. “It’s not the scouters, they’re fine, we don’t know what’s going-”

Vegeta cut the soldier off with a sharp hand gesture as his other hand flew suddenly to his own superior scouter. Without another word he blasted into the air, scanning the horizon like a hawk. The soldiers, preferring to be at least near him than on their own, did likewise. They held back however when he took a sudden dive into the trees below, and were glad of the precaution. The forest shook with the sound of whatever he’d impacted with, flocks of birds fled in alarm and a trail of trees came crashing earthward as he made a path of destruction through their numbers. The men looked at one-another, each hoping for the others to make the first move, until reluctantly, as a unit, they followed him.

 

* * *

 

Goku stood up shakily, rubbing the back of his head. His vision was blurry and he was winded, but he figured if he was in immediate danger he wouldn’t have been allowed to get up. He took a moment therefore to clear his head, laughing grimly as he did so.

“Hey, you sure got a good hit on me there. Maybe some warning next time.” He quipped, catching his breath. His manner was light-hearted but by no means friendly. “Can I assume you’re with these guys who’ve been messing with my planet?”

There was no response from his assailant, and as his vision began to clear he found a strange sight developing before him. There was a man, yes, and he was dressed in a similar fashion to the others he’d dealt with already today, but he was not like the others. He was shorter, compact in build, and with a wealth of thick black hair that swept upwards from his pronounced widow’s peak. His uniform was different, his armour black, his bodysuit darker, boots cut higher and more practical and there was some sort of stamp on his breastplate. But these minor details were lost on Goku, whose eyes stopped unwaveringly on the man’s face.

The left half and lower face was relatively normal, a straight, pointed nose, well formed if scowling lips and a dark, heavy brow over a piercing black eye. The problem with its neighbour was simply this: there wasn’t one.

Where his left eye should have been there was a sprawling monstrosity of metal and scar tissue, the skin that wasn’t snarled up between straight and delicate looking strands of metal or scars was discoloured, like it had been burned at one time, and central to this horror was a spherical contraption with a faintly glowing centre. The whole thing seemed to clasp the side of his face like some sort of parasite, with a receiver - covering the corresponding ear - built into it. The entire effect was grossly unnerving, and made no less unpleasant by the way the glowing dot _moved_. The other eye, the normal one, stayed fixed on Goku but the metal one was shifting in its metal socket, examining the newly created clearing, and - unbeknownst to the Earthling - scanning the area for things a real eye could never detect.

Goku couldn’t tell if the face had ever been handsome from what remained of it, not that he’d have thought much on it if he could. It was darker than his, the dark brows met in deep furrows which lent even more gravity to his already severe expression. The one good eye was darkly lined and appeared prematurely aged by the shadows beneath it. The scowling mouth looked almost chiselled, and Goku was momentarily surprised when the lips parted to speak.

“The soldiers I sent here, you have neutralised them?”

“I - uh, yeah I guess I have. I gave them the chance to to run, but those guys...” He had, but the men seemed just as afraid of returning defeated as of him.

“And you can hide your power level.” The non-eye swivelled to face Goku, its little light sweeping him from top to toe. “Interesting.”

Goku said nothing.

“Are you familiar with these?” He thrust a hand inside his breast plate and produced two capsules for Goku’s inspection. In the background and at the edges of his vision more of the thugs he’d been putting down all day kept appearing, but while he sensed out their power he knew instinctively that the real threat was right in front of him.

“Those things Dr Briefs makes?” Goku asked, feeling wrong-footed. He’d been expecting a fight, not an interrogation. “Those’re called Capsules.”

“I wish to know more about them. Who is Dr Briefs and where do I find him?”

Goku was drawn to his full height now, and shifted his weight uncomfortably. The man had a cold and direct manner. He spoke as if he was not accustomed to communicating with other thinking, feeling creatures, which was in fact the reality. The moment or two of silence Goku returned to his question proved unsatisfactory.

“Answer me or I will kill you.”

Goku laughed. “You can try, friend, but I don’t go down so easy. Dr Briefs lives at Capsule Corp over in West City, but you gotta go through me before I’ll let you lay a finger on Bulma’s da-”

It happened so suddenly that Goku literally did not know what hit him. The one-eyed man had launched himself from a standing start into a sickening gut punch, and before he had time to register the pain from that he took a vicious open-handed blow to either the side of his head, specifically targeting the ears. Nauseating colours burst before his eyes and he stumbled, or that is to say he _would have_ stumbled, but he didn’t get the chance of even that; a decisive elbow to the back of the neck sent the taller man sprawling face first to the ground. In pain, and in complete mental disarray, Goku had just enough of his senses left to feel a boot press into the back of his exposed neck.

*   *   *

The soldiers watched silently as their leader put his weight down on the fallen man’s neck. They heard the crunch, saw the body jerk, and that was it. This man who had killed many of their number already was just another body in the dirt.

After some moments a braver of their number ejaculated, “Sir, that fight was incredible! You just-”

“That wasn’t a fight,” snapped Vegeta with almost a semblance of emotion, albeit anger, “that was a murder. Learn the difference.”

It was not a fight. He’d struck with calculation, aiming to kill. The mystery fighter hadn’t had time to put up a defence or even raise his power level. Vegeta was many things but he was also a Saiyan, a remnant of a marauding warrior race. Battle was in his blood and he’d be damned before he let a killing display like that be elevated to the lofty designation of “fighting”.

It was clear the Earthling could affect his own power level, and Vegeta was surprised to admit to himself that he would have liked to have seen such a skill in action. He wondered if the kill would have been as easy if the young man hadn’t been so purposefully disabled by himself. The first disorienting blow to the head, before they’d even exchanged words, had been wholly deliberate.

He looked at the body for a moment, and only a moment, before taking once again to the air and scanning the area. The young man had told him “West City”, and the ship in orbit would already have mapped out all settlements. The source of the new technology could not long escape him.

“Spread out and find this ‘West City’.” He ordered. “You are to send for me immediately when you find it. You have one hour, and one hour only.”

“Yes, sir!” They chorused in well-trained unison, and scattered in every direction.

He took one last, thoughtful glance down at the body far below him, and left the scene himself.

 

* * *

 

“We cannot over-emphasize that you _must_ _stay in your homes, do not engage the enemy, trust in your country’s military and wait for-_ ”

The image was lost in static. All channels, television and radio, had been showing nothing but a continuous government broadcast for some hours which provided no new information and repeated the same instructions, and the inhabitants of Capsule Corp had been watching it in silent abhorrence. Its sudden absence cast a considerable chill over the room. The person nearest the set flicked through the channels half-heartedly, but there was nothing.

Bulma was the first to break the silence.

“Yamcha’s still out there.”

There was no reply.

“You’d think he’d have called by now.” She continued. “I told him to call.”

“I’m sure he’s fine dear.” Quavered her mother unconvincingly.

The silence stretched on some minutes more.

“What do you think happened to the broadcast?” Asked one lab-coated assistant. “Do you think they’re…?”

“They probably took down another relay tower.” Bulma told him, her voice flat. “They’ve been targeting communication and infrastructure. The channels have been dropping out one by one. The phones haven’t worked for hours.”

The assistant fell quiet.

She stood up and paced around the room. The unresponsive radio laid discarded, no-one had bothered to check the phones for a dial tone for at least an hour. They were clustered in the sub-basement of Capsule Corp’s laboratory complex, affectionately and now appropriately nicknamed ‘the bunker’. Every Capsule Corp employee had been ushered out of their laboratories and offices and escorted downstairs, at least those who hadn’t fled the building in desperate search of their families.

Yamcha had sensed the arrival of the invaders before the assault began. The other Z-warriors must have felt it too because Yamcha said they were all on the move. She made him take her sat phone before he left, so she could guarantee he could reach her. Whatever the state of their relationship she still loved him, and he had promised to check in. It had been nearly seven hours and she’d heard nothing.

She thought at first that it was a diversionary tactic and that he was trying to avoid her again. Less than an hour after his departure the reports started to flood in and station after station gave way to emergency broadcasts. Three hours in and it became obvious that this was not a joke, and the owners of Capsule Corp took action. All work was suspended, all business forgotten as the denizens of Capsule Corp filed down the stairs and through the reinforced basement doors. Why Old Man Briefs had ever built this had been a mystery to the faculty, but now it was a balm to their terror.

They hadn’t seen or heard anything of the invaders. West City was as yet untouched and their fear was of a surreal, lurking nature. How could any of this be happening? Real life seemed a hundred years away already in such a short time. And no-one knew anything, not what was happening outside, who the invaders were or what they wanted.

And Yamcha hadn’t called.

Was there a problem with the transmitter? When was the last time she checked the basement relays? Had she even tested them since she installed them?

Well, she thought to herself, there’s no point hanging round here.

“Mom, I’m going up to check the transmitters.” She announced. “Tell dad where I’ve gone, ok? I’ll be right back.”

It took a moment for her daughter’s words to sink in, and Bulma was halfway to the reinforced steel doors before Mrs Briefs caught up with her. “Sweetheart, no!”

“Relax, mom,” she reassured her patiently, “we’re fine here, all the action is happening miles away-”

Bulma was thrown to the floor on top of her mother as the whole building shook violently. They landed hard and Mrs Briefs took the brunt of the shock. Flecks of dust and plaster rained from the ceiling and the basement was suddenly full to bursting with the terrified screams of its formerly dazed occupants.

“Mom? Mom!” She scrambled off her mother and pulled her into a sitting position. She couldn’t be heard over the terror of her inmates.

“Dad!” She yelled pitifully, trying to help her injured mother breath. “Daddy, help! Where are you?!”

Bulma’s world convulsed again; the lights went out, beakers and instruments went flying off shelves and shattered, and the panicking of the crowd redoubled as they suddenly realised as one that they weren’t hiding in safety: they were trapped.

They were in complete darkness, she could hear the thudding of the auxiliary power trying to come online but something was wrong. No, everything was wrong. Bulma clutched her mother tightly to her as the screams and footsteps around her grew more frantic.

There was a new sound in the cacophony; the slow, tortured screech of metal being forced out of shape, of hinges bursting, ripping, scraping and it took Bulma a few moments to realise what it signified. The thick metal doors that separated the inhabitants from the passages to the surface were being torn open.

“How?” She screamed out loud. “Those doors are nearly a foot thick! What sort of power--?!”

There was a change in the pitch of screaming, as the doors gave a final death groan and the trapped herd all desperately tried to escape their vicinity. And she could see something now, some movement. Coloured lights, small, in garish hues of pink and green, she saw flashes of them between the bodies around her. All at once the fear that had been bubbling away in her since the attack began so many hours ago was like a chill stab in her stomach. Numbly she thought that perhaps she ought to try to pull her mother out from under the feet of the crowd, and felt blindly around for a table to hide under, crawling crouched across the floor.

It was then that she noticed a tiny red light sailing overhead, landing a foot away from her with a metallic sound that she could just hear over the furore. She also heard it emit a sharp hissing sound. If there had been light she might have seen the gas before it entered her lungs, regardless she was unconscious before her limp body hit the cold tiles.

*   *   *

Bulma tried to open her eyes, and groaning shut them again. Everything was too bright. She shielded her face and, fighting a wave of nausea, forced herself to sit up and open her eyes.

Where was she? She could make out blurry shapes moving around her, and as her vision returned she realised that she was in the indoor courtyard of Capsule Corp, her mother’s biodome garden. She saw several others carelessly piled on top of each other on the grass, she hoped merely sleeping, and many more like her either blinking in the sunshine or already on their feet. They were not, however, alone.

She counted a minimum of a dozen brutish looking bipedal creatures surrounding the dazed group. Some looked vaguely human shaped, others had massively distorted features, like one she saw whose cranium extended at least a foot behind him, or the unpleasantly fishy looking beast stood next to him. And now she knew what those floating colours had been; they all wore brightly coloured pieces of glass over their left eyes, square and with what looked like boxy, white headphones attached to them. She saw alien characters flitting across the surface of the nearest, adding credence to her original guess of their being some sort of communication device. They glowed gently, which was apparent whenever one of the bored soldiers wandered into the shadows of her mother’s beloved exotic trees. And soldiers they apparently were if the bizarre body armour and helmets were anything to go by.

That red light, that hissing, Bulma now realised they’d been hit with a gas grenade. She felt grudging admiration for the smoothness of the operation. Whoever these bastards were they came well prepared.

Some of them were pacing, glancing grimly at the compound while keeping a half hearted watch on the captive scientists. Others stood in the shade, arms crossed over armoured chests. They seemed like they were waiting for something, and they seemed nervous about it. Bulma observed them closely. Occasionally one of the creatures would reach up to the white section of the communicator and press a button, muttering to each other in low voices. She couldn’t make out what they were saying, they were too far away. Slowly, trying not to draw attention to herself, she began to crawl towards the closest pair of soldiers.

A fellow captive groaned as he came to and Bulma was suddenly snapped to reality by the sound. What was she doing? Her mother and father were here somewhere. Still sluggish from the gas, she struggled to her feet and turned, looking around her among the bodies for her family. Others were getting to their feet as well, though stooped and frightened by the alien presence. As far as she could tell everyone from the basement was up here, she just had to find them. She didn’t shout for fear of attracting the aliens, but she did start moving as swiftly as she dared towards the clump of humans in the centre of their rough circle.

The unconscious prisoners looked like they’d just been dumped en masse, without a thought for their safety or dignity. They were in varying states of awareness but as far as she could tell they were at least alive. For some all she could see was a leg or an arm just poking out from underneath the pile. She felt disgust, she felt rage, and ultimately she felt fear for any force that would treat living, sentient beings this way, like worthless animals. She reached out to the nearest person, a female technician she knew by sight only, and helped the semi-conscious woman into a sitting position, before moving on to the next. She’d find her parents here somewhere.

“Hey. Hey! What are you doing?” A soldier blustered.

“Me?” She turned to face the speaker, who she was unnerved to see was the fish-faced creature. The movement of those huge, slimy lips intensified her deep sense of repugnance. He was moving towards her at a disquieting pace.

“Yeah you! The hell you think you’re doing?” He barked, raising his arm towards her threateningly.

“These people need help, someone could suffocate under there!” She snapped back, though shaking with terror. His arm had strapped to it a thing that looked like a cuff, but was of the same bulky design as the communicators. From the way he had it pointed squarely in her face she was strongly disposed to consider it a weapon.

“Captives are not to move unless ordered, not to speak unless spoken to! Get down on the ground and stay there.”

“I’m just trying to help them-”

He grabbed her by the arm and pushed her roughly to the ground. It didn’t hurt a lot but it shocked her. The rational part of her brain knew she was mad to be arguing with this brute, but she opened her mouth to retort anyway, pushing herself up into a sitting position as she did so.

“What in Otherworld is going on here?”

A new voice, sharp, low and distinct. The soldier froze, brutish bravado deserting him entirely. Bulma twisted her body to see the owner of this harsh new voice, and immediately wished she hadn’t.

Striding through the french doors and across the grass of the fabricated garden was a man, if she could call him that. He wore a variation of the armour that the soldiers wore but with alterations that signified a higher rank of soldier. Her observant eye took all this in as it swept up his body to stop, horrified, on his face.

A quarter of it seemed to be missing and his scarring, ugly in itself, housed the most abhorrent prosthetic she had ever seen; he had one metal eye, cased in an intricate yet grotesque network of tiny metal wires and struts, with a glowing dot in the centre that looked almost like it was burning. Her stomach churned. His otherwise human appearance further emphasized what she saw as his gross deformity, and Bulma was too sickened by what she saw to think about the danger she was so clearly in. The deference of the aliens towards this substantially smaller humanoid indicated he was an Officer, the obvious fear indicated something entirely else.

“Captain Vegeta! This Earthling, Sir, she was - she - I told her to -”

The new man stared the fish-faced alien down with almost no emotion save a scowl. That scowl looked like it was etched on, like he couldn’t form any other expression, at least that’s how it looked to Bulma.

“Do you mean to tell me that you can’t control _one Earthling_ with-” he glanced down at her and squinted slightly, briefly touching the side of his face, “-practically _no power level_?”

But Bulma wasn’t looking at him anymore. Stood at the entrance to the garden, covered in dust and bruises but otherwise intact, were her mother and father.

*   *   *

Dr Briefs was beyond relief. Careless of the heavy guards either side of him he and his wife tried to run to her, calling her name when the brutes prevented their passing.

“Mom! Dad!” She echoed back at them, trying to get to her feet. But Vegeta stopped her; he wrapped one immensely strong gloved hand around the back of her neck and forced her back on to her knees. She froze in renewed terror, her eyes boring into her father’s imploringly: _do something_.

“This woman means something to you, Doctor?” He said it flatly, not a hint of threat in his voice, and it would have seemed perfectly ordinary, if cold, were it not for the vice grip he had on Bulma’s cervical vertebrae. He shifted his weight for effect, forcing her to stoop further.

“Please, please! That’s our daughter!” Dr Briefs pleaded, as his wife grasped in terror at his arm. “Please, she’s our only child, she’s all we have-”

He tightened his grip and what was previously merely uncomfortable became painful and Bulma, as unaccustomed to pain endurance as she was to any physical hardship, let out a yelp. He loosened it as soon as he’d extracted that vocalisation; there was no point wasting her screams, he might need their renewed impact .

“Have you had time to answer my previous enquiries, Doctor?” He asked simply.

The old man was beside himself, frightened tears standing in his eyes. “Of course, of course, whatever you want - I’ll join you, bring my capsules - but please, not my daughter. I wouldn’t have any of this without her!”

There was a pause, during which the Captain looked down at the blue haired woman. “What do you mean?”

Dr Briefs looked stricken; he was not a stupid man and felt danger lay in this line of questioning. But he’d never learnt how to lie; he always let Bulma deal with the corporate chicanery. “She...she’s a genius. Without her my Capsules would be the same they were when I first starting making them. Every breakthrough in the last decade has been down to her. Please, please don’t hurt her.”

He looked at her again. “Is what he says the truth, woman?”

“Y’s,” she hissed through gritted teeth.

He released the woman on to the lawn, and she scurried away from him in frightened relief.

“There is a new plan.” He announced. “If she is as much a genius as you say then I don’t need you. You will stay here and create machines for us, your wife will be taken into custody and any punishment you incur from insubordination will be enacted upon her. Do you understand?”

“W-what? But that’s monstrous-!”

“You, woman,” here he addressed Bulma, “will gather all the materials, supplies and any necessary personnel you may require. You will direct my soldiers and they will assist you in this only. Beyond that you will comply with all orders received, do you understand?”

“Personnel? My father for a start-”

“Your father will remain on this planet. Perform your tasks satisfactorily and no harm will come to him. _Do_ you understand?”

She nodded stiffly, her initial feelings of disgust now gratified by real and sudden hatred.

“You,” he indicated a small number of soldiers, who snapped to attention, “follow this woman, ensure the things she needs are sent back to the ship, then put her and any Earthlings she brings with her in a cell. She will leave behind personal effects.” He glanced at the now moving pile of bodies. “And someone tidy up that mess.”

Really, Vegeta thought to himself later on his return to the ship, what is the point of acquiring slaves to work the planet if they’re left to suffocate in their own filth? The stupidity of his underlings never faltered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I also want to give a shout out to Tumblr user Rutbisbe who created this incredible fanart for this fanfic: http://rutbisbe.tumblr.com/post/165289585106/fanart-for-choices-an-amazing-fanfic-by


	2. Partings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He thought he’d be angry, sorrowful, even relieved, but instead he felt nothing but a dead weight that seemed to sit in his stomach, filling him with an inward chill. He looked again at his reflection in the water. The face that looked back was tanned, regular and to some tastes even attractive, but Vegeta couldn’t recognise himself. He felt abstracted, like he was in some sort of dream. He was alone now.

_ The suns burned hot overhead on the newly designated F-485. The small planet had land masses consisting mostly of archipelagos, chains of small to medium sized islands that were dotted across a freshwater ocean, surrounding one large continental mass in the approximate middle. Purging it had been difficult from a logistical standpoint, as the sparse native population had many places to hide on the jungle-heavy islands, and when flushed out had surprisingly explosive techniques. He was disappointed at how easily the small, scaley people died in further combat after being impressed by their disproportionate fire-power. That was the way with some species, they sacrificed offence for defence or vice versa and in doing so lost balance. They’d been called Cerlians, or something similar. _

_ Still, they’d nearly taken out Radditz. On any other mission Vegeta would have laughed all the way back to Freeza’s station at the sight of Radditz pirouetting to avoid near-fatal blasts, his armour tanking the damage when he finally got hit. Not this mission, however. The prince was grim and quick to anger. Both of his squad mates had found him temperamental and aggressive, even moreso than usual, and had decided to avoid him. _

_ As Vegeta stooped to fill his cupped hands with water he was surprised to find that they were shaking. He stared blankly into his unblemished reflection in the water before splashing it over his face. The pool was in a cool, shaded area and was calming to his burning eyes; lack of sleep, or perhaps some alien allergy had left his eyes feeling hot and uncomfortable. _

_ He dried his hands and re-gloved them, despite the midday heat, and grabbed his scouter from the rock beside him. He stood up straight and surveyed the two corpses laid out neatly by the water’s edge. It was the first time he’d actually bothered with the remains of a foe. _

_ Nappa had joked that they would finally get rid of Radditz on this purge, to which Radditz had heatedly responded with a punch. Radditz needed to let off some steam on this occasion, Nappa well knew, and play fought with the much weaker Saiyan until the boy was quite tired out. Radditz’s frustration was well known to all three of them; Vegeta had flat-out refused Radditz’s request to go in search of his brother Kakarot. Nappa had secretly thought that Vegeta would relent eventually, and was just exerting his authority in the wake of Freeza’s increasing micro-management of their missions. Not that he’d ever have told the prince, even if he were able to. _

_ Nappa would never tell his prince anything, ever again. He would never play-fight with Radditz, nor would he eat, drink, laugh, kill or fuck. Nappa stared through unseeing eyes at one of the planet’s two suns from his silent position beside the riverbank. Nappa was dead. _

_ It was Radditz he’d miss the most, Vegeta decided. Nappa may have been closer to Vegeta in both rank, class and ability, but Radditz had been his squad mate since childhood. They had practically grown up together, playing as boys and fighting as young men. In his deepest and most repressed thoughts he would’ve called Radditz a friend. He really had hoped one of the Cerlian’s would have done that job for him, relieving him of the weight of agency in completing his mission. But no, Radditz had benefitted from training with Prince Vegeta and had just about out-classed the Cerlian fighters. He regretted training Radditz so well, he might have been spared the expression of grief on the bigger man’s face as he put the hole in his chest himself. And with his last words, voice cracking with pain and emotion, Radditz had only wanted to know why. _

_ Why indeed. How could he tell them that the ice tyrant had decreed them no longer useful? That he, their leader and comrade, was tasked with neutralising them? That this entire mission was in fact their death warrants? _

_ “They’re only holding you back, Vegeta.” _

_ He hadn’t fought the natives unless provoked, allowing Nappa and Radditz free reign to do as they please, and to tire themselves out. They’d eliminated the population within the mission’s time constraints and were roasting some natives on a campfire when Vegeta finally decided he’d procrastinated long enough. He’d told Nappa there was a small pocket of resistance he’d missed in the North and the pair had flown off together, out of the sensory range of Radditz. Vegeta then killed Nappa very simply and without much feeling. He’d never much cared for Nappa, finding him too much of an oaf and a burden, despite his immense strength. The brute hadn’t even see his death coming. _

_ To Radditz he’d granted a more honourable death. Radditz was permitted to look upon the face of his murderer, to cast those disbelieving eyes at Vegeta’s outstretched palm as he slowly gathered energy for the beam that would kill his childhood companion. Radditz hadn’t even tried to fight. Much worse, he’d tried to reason with him. And Vegeta had hesitated, for the first time in his career, about taking a life. But not for long. Radditz had hit the ground with a dull thud, with just enough breath to utter that last, poignant question. _

_ “...Why?” _

_ He’d then retrieved both bodies, laid them carefully side by side, and called for their pods. He would return the bodies to the mothership, proof that he had fulfilled his mission. In the meantime he’d tried to allow himself a moment of unobserved weakness, and found he was quite unable to muster any feeling he recognised at all. He thought he’d be angry, sorrowful, even relieved, but instead he felt nothing but a dead weight that seemed to sit in his stomach, filling him with an inward chill. He looked again at his reflection in the water. The face that looked back was tanned, regular and to some tastes even attractive, but Vegeta couldn’t recognise himself. He felt abstracted, like he was in some sort of dream. He was alone now. _

_ He sat on the rock, legs crossed, and raised his eyes to the heavens, waiting for the pods. _

* * *

 

“You are late,  _ Captain _ .” Zarbon’s face loomed over the crew on the bridge’s main screens. “I hope you have a good excuse for this. Lord Freeza was  _ very _ specific about your deadlines.”

“Is your video link recording, Zarbon?” Vegeta returned coolly.

“Hmm?” Zarbon leaned out of shot for a moment, evidently giving orders to some underling. “It is now. What have you to show us? None of your monkey business I hope.”

The insult, pathetically constructed as it was, had no effect on Vegeta who continued to stare impassively at the green face of one of his most bitter rivals.

“Observe.”

Vegeta removed from a pocket in his armour one of the capsules. Having cleared a space already for the purpose, he depressed the button and let it drop. The crewmen who had yet to see this marvel stared at the newly appeared lawnmower that now occupied the middle of the bridge. The Captain leaned forward, pressed another button on the device, and as quickly as it had appeared it was gone. He deftly caught the capsule in one hand, holding it up so that Zarbon could better see.

“This is why we’re late. If you’ll kindly forward the footage to Lord Freeza I’m sure the delay will be pardoned. You can also tell his Lordship that I’ll be returning with a small retinue of alien scientists and the equipment we’ll need to replicate this technology for our own use.”

Vegeta paused, allowing for the delay in communication transmission that resulted from the lightyears of distance. When Zarbon still did not speak he continued.

“A contingent of soldiers remain on Planet F-735 to continue the integration process, and we are prepping for interplanetary transit as we speak. I trust this will be satisfactory to his Lordship.”

Zarbon frowned, leaning forward with his chin on his fist. “Well, quite. Very ...interesting.”

“We will be launching as soon as this communication is closed.” He continued patiently. “ _ Kindly _ forward the footage to his Lordship and we will dock at HQ1 in 3 cycles, ready to debrief.”

“Of course.” Zarbon murmured, for continued want of anything pithy to say. “Ah, safe journeys.” 

The comm closed. Vegeta handed the capsule to an underling and stepped backwards into his chair to oversee the launch. As always, he repressed the ghost of a sigh.

 

* * *

 

Bulma’s cell was clinically utilitarian with a plain white bed - upon which she was currently laying - set into the wall, a latrine in a closet and oddly a small drinking fountain. She was surprised at the level of accommodation, and interested to observe that the aliens had developed very similar conveniences to those on Earth, though she had yet to determine how the latrine functioned.

The last few hours had been a blur. Following their orders to the letter, the soldiers had marched Bulma all around the compound, as she encapsulated everything she needed. All assistance was refused. She had volunteers of course, her lab technicians were nothing if not fiercely loyal, but she knew she didn’t need them. Of course she was terrified but what was the good of dragging a fellow human along?

It was probably the bravest thing she’d ever done, she thought sadly. In her younger days, in all her adventures with Goku she would throw literally anyone to the lions before facing danger herself. She felt no shame, that was who she was, had always been. She regretted now that surge of courage that saw her walking head high and alone into the alien transport; her gnawing terror now stemmed from the certain knowledge that wherever she was going she would be alone, unknown and without ally. 

What if she couldn’t convert their power supplies to run her machines? What if she couldn’t translate their code to make it accept her software? Why didn’t she bring along that smart little technician who worked in lab.10-b? He made great coffee. Whatever demon of courage had possessed her was gone now and she had cried her lot out on the thin pillow.

There was also the boredom. She didn’t know how many hours she’d been trapped, the lack of windows didn’t help. The pillow was already dry of tears, only her mascara remained as evidence. It had been some time since the ship took off; the whole room had shuddered and there was an incredible noise that seemed to permeate the whole ship, and then everything was still again. Bulma suspected light-speed travel, and reflected with sullen resentment that she was granted access to these technological wonders at the expense of everything important to her.

Her door clicked and she snapped upright, eyes fixed on the entrance.

"What the hell do you want?" She snarled. The entrant cocked an eyebrow at this display, closing the cell door behind him. It was the same deformed man who had brought her to her knees in the garden. Seeing him up close did not improve matters. 

"You must be very brave or very stupid," he hypothesised, "and if the latter I'm beginning to regret my decision. I am here to inform you that we will arrive at our destination in three cycles, and once there you will set up your lab and recreate this technology for me."

"And if I refuse?"

"We have already established that I will kill your parents."

Bulma remained silent for a moment.

"What's a cycle?" She asked eventually. 

He frowned. "It's a standardised unit that we use to measure time across the empire."

"How long is it?" 

"One rotation of the base planet of HQ1." This proved unhelpful. "About 1.4 of your Earth days."

"How is it portioned?" She queried. "Do you even have hours?"

"We have hours, but they are not measured like yours.  The cycle, or 'day', is split into three even portions called blocks. Each block lasts a little over 11 of your hours. The block is 10 of our hours."

Silence again. Bulma couldn't think of anything to say to this creature. This monster, who stood before her without the slightest hint of shame, who tore her away from her family, who was forcing her into his service, this monster was mere feet away and she was trying to make conversation with it.

"So what now?"

He unlocked the door. "You eat, and then return to your cell. You will be escorted." Bulma leaned to peer out the doorway, where the alien was indicating a younger looking soldier, wearing what she would later learn was a corporal's uniform.

He turned to leave. 

"Wait!" She insisted. "You're just going? Just like that? And who is this guy, why should I trust him?"

He stared her, nonplussed. "You may stay in your cell and starve if you prefer. Your wellbeing is of little concern to me."

And with that he was gone. Bulma stepped gloomily out of the cell. 

"What're you staring at, knuckle head?" She snapped at her escort. Speechless and suppressing a smile, he locked the door behind her.

“You should do what Prince-Captain Vegeta says.” He informed her with startling mildness.

“Prince-Captain?” She snorted. “That’s dumb. And why should I?”

“Well,” the young man pondered, “he hasn’t killed you yet. And he spoke to you personally. That probably means he wants you unharmed. Doing as he says is probably the best way to get by. Trust me.”

“Why  _ should _ I?”

“How do you think I came to be wearing this uniform and holding this gun?” He frowned. “You’re not special. This is how this army works.”

Bulma was silent. He marched the little human to the nearest feeding station.

*   *   *

If Bulma was the recipient of any peculiar admiration among the crew she was not aware of it. Her emotions wavered wildly between rage, fear and grief. In such a state she was oblivious to the smirks of soldiers who hung about to enjoy the spectacle of this weak little human as she snapped and snarled at her captors, aside from which they were not demonstrative in their admiration. They had their orders: she was an asset, not to be harmed, off limits. And perhaps she would not have been so brave were she not aware of this fact; she talked back to her captors and was altogether without any sense of self-preservation. This provided much entertainment to the crew who spent the majority of their lives in a curious state of simultaneous tedium and fear. She ate her food, which she described quite colourfully, and was led back to her cell. The young corporal, the same man who had brought the capsules to the Prince Captain’s attention, locked the door, hoping he would be assigned to this blue haired she-devil again. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw something on this god-forsaken ship that made him want to laugh.

 

* * *

 

 

Alone in his quarters, Prince Captain Vegeta contemplated. He was beginning to regret his decision to take the woman over her father. The old man was more predictable, steadier. This Earthling he’d chosen instead was too brash, irrespective of her purported genius. She would need to be checked if she were to survive even a week on Freeza’s planet.

She would learn. Everyone learned.

He crossed the room and slid across a panel on the far wall, revealing a cooler containing, among other things, a soft ice pack. He removed it, pressed it to his face and exhaled slowly. He knew the sudden change in temperature was bad for the connections in his bionics but he didn’t care. Still holding the ice pack to his face, he retired to bed.

*   *   *

What Freeza’s men referred to as HQ1 was in actuality a docking station that served as a port for incoming and outgoing missions. It was here that Vegeta would disembark his men and his acquisitions so the painstaking task of re-attaching a base to the gaping underbelly could be initiated. Meanwhile the Ice-tyrant’s homeworld lay below, a cold and uninviting hunk of featureless rock. Its position in its solar system was similar to Earth’s, being neither too near nor too far to support life, but its thinner atmosphere and young, less luminous sun left very little of its surface comfortably inhabitable. In fact the geographical habitation could be easily seen from space as like a belt that spanned the equator of what Bulma heard them calling “Planet Cold”. She stared out of the space station window at the uninviting prospect. 

“How do we get there?” She asked of the young corporal who had again been tasked with escorting her. He was mostly humanoid, though his skin was a very queer shade of yellow.

“Planet Cold? We use shuttles of course.” He shifted his gun uncomfortably. “Solar shuttles take you from here to the surface. Once on the surface you’re assigned a workspace and overseer and you take the land shuttle to your destination. You’ll be ok.” He added. “Scientists, well, they get a pretty easy ride. You’ll probably be near the palace, where the ranking Officers are quartered.”

She was silent. She’d gotten a lot of information from this soldier already, and none of it gave her comfort. She had at least thought originally that the authority which held her captive ended with the deformed Captain Vegeta - she refused to use his ridiculous full title -  but she had learned that he was a mere puppet who answered to one “Lord Freeza”. That had been a blow. Her planet had been absorbed into a vast intergalactic empire that roamed the universe, engulfing anything it wanted and spitting out and selling whatever it didn’t. And she was going to help them. Her technology would be adapted to transport supplies and weapons, making it that much easier for these tyrants to spread their horror to other planets.

But what choice did she have? If she refused she and everyone she loved would be killed and those planets would be destroyed anyway, just a little later. What good would it do to throw her life away on mere principal? No, she wasn’t ready to die yet, not by a long way.

“We’re here.” The boy snapped her out of her reverie. The more she interacted with him the more she realised that he really was that, just a boy. He’d spoken of his homeworld and how he hoped that with good service he would be rewarded with leave to see his family, his mother and remaining siblings. She wondered if it was like that for all of Freeza’s subjects.

Bustle surrounded them on all sides, some soldiers dressed all alike carting crates and supplies going to and fro, others who appeared to be off-duty queuing for the shuttle pods. There were metal barriers that separated the queues for cargo and personnel. She saw the off-duty soldiers and others passing through holding up keycards to automated sensor panels that flanked the barriers. The sensor panels would scan the cards and, after what appeared to be a brief interrogation, let the soldier pass.

“What now?” She asked him under her breath. “I haven’t got a card!”

“Just follow me.” He smiled. “You count as cargo, after all.”

She followed him, mildly offended, as he approached the barriers and held out his key card to the scanning panel for inspection. “Corporal T96, requesting grounding, with cargo F-735-CCB.” 

“Soldier: Corporal T96. Cleared for grounding.” The panel responded with a robot voice. “Cargo: Earthling, captive, science department. Cleared for grounding. Proceed.”

“There.” And he grinned at her scowling face as the barrier lifted and they passed through.

Bulma would never forget the shuttle ride to the planet, though everything after was a blur. The shuttle pods were just large enough for two pairs of average sized people to sit abreast, and there was a long, thin window along the roof of the shuttle that, while not serving any real purpose, at least gave the occupants a sense of their momentum. They strapped in and the shuttle lurched into position before being launched from the station and hurtling towards the planet below. The pods had no artificial gravity, so the sudden floating sensation, the rattling of the shuttle and the sight of other pods speeding past the window made her suddenly and violently nauseated. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to will it away, ignoring the taste of bile beginning to rise in her throat.

“How’s it going, human?” The boy laughed.

She would have answered with an expletive but couldn’t at that point afford to open her mouth.

The landing was without incident, the planet’s gravity asserted itself and the shuttle, after decelerating drastically through some function Bulma was not at that point familiar with, docked safely on the surface. Bulma spilled out of the doors the moment they opened and fell to her knees, shaking violently. Then she threw up.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> saijanbulma.deviantart.com  
> saijanbulma.tumblr.com


	3. Arrivals

Chapter 3: Arrivals

 

_ Yet another planet of worms. They screamed, they scattered and most pitifully some of them tried to fight back. This was supposed to be a high level purge and these inhabitants were barely more evolved than beetles. Vegeta ripped them apart, feeling nothing but contempt for their weakness. They were filth. They were pathetic. They deserved this. _

_ The landscape was aflame. Fire and smoke choked the air in his lungs but he didn’t care. This was the only time he ever felt alive. In one fluid motion he grabbed an attacking alien, tore the unfortunate creature in two and used the flailing limbs to swat another of the little bastards out of the air, stunning it and crushing its skull underfoot as he scoped out the next victim. His armour was caked in wet and congealed blood, neither the colour nor cut visible under that grisly sheen. _

_ What was this fucking planet? In what universe was this a level 4 purge? Radditz could have managed this single handed. _

_ The ground shook underfoot, a familiar occurrence during such events, although less so was the sudden gaping crevice that opened between Vegeta’s feet. Unfazed he darted lightly to one side of it. The reddish-brown earth was spilling into it like water into a dervish, and amid the belching of sulfurous gasses that emanated from it an unearthly shriek issued forth. The gas stung his nose and made his eyes water, but he couldn’t care any less; he anticipated a challenge. _

_ Later he remembered the great clawed forearm that heaved the lumpy body into the light by his very feet, and something about teeth, and a sudden lack of other antagonists on the battlefield. He remembered blood, rather too much of it his own, and he remembered the success of tearing out an enormous heart with both hands as it gushed its life essence furiously on the burning ground. He may have taken a bite out of it, or perhaps he’d dreamt that. He always had plenty of time to dream in the re-gen tanks. _

_ He drifted in and out of consciousness, watched over by bored healers. _

_ “Again?” One asked. _

_ “Evidently." Was the terse reply. "He’s growing more and more reckless with every mission.” _

_ “Anything serious?” _

_ “No, the idiot wouldn’t wear his breathing apparatus and nearly choked to death on the fumes.” _

_ “Weren’t they briefed on that?” _

_ “Ha! Like he sits through a briefing.” _

_ Vegeta dreamed, and the dreams seemed to last forever. Everything was so normal, it all made sense. Signing on for a new mission, preparing to take off, Radditz and Nappa joining him as usual. Everything as usual. They joked about that time Vegeta killed them. _

_ Killed them. _

_ Had he? _

_ And now he was back on Planet Vegeta, and that too made sense. His family were there, and so was Radditz. But no-one would talk to him. Everyone said he’d hadn’t murdered his teammates the true Saiyan way, that he had to go back and do it again. _

_ Murder them. _

_ He was underwater. He couldn’t breath. He felt nothing. He felt no fear, no anguish. He opened his arms to death, and tried to drown. His lungs filled with water and he found he could breath it. Of course, how silly of him, this was normal.  _

_ Perfectly normal.  _

_ Nothing to worry about… _

_ In the re-gen tank Vegeta finally opened his eyes. The world was a familiar sickly green. He felt some pain but nothing particularly concerning. The healers entered his field of vision, their crocodile faces bringing a sobering reality to his awakening. Nothing to do now but wait for them to drain the tank and release him. Then find another mission. Level 5 this time. Level 4 was not satisfactory. _

 

* * *

 

The complex was vast. It was practically a city. Nearly two miles across and housed within a gigantic bubble to allow the non-native inhabitants to breath, it was built radially around a central point. Each segment of the complex was specifically designed to purpose.

At the centre stood the palace, of alien design unfamiliar to the Earthling. A single twisting spire towered over the landscape, surrounded by smaller towers that jutted out from its tapered trunk, giving the impression of some hideous, horned creature with a bulbous bottom and skinny head. It was stark white on a background of dark purple skies, impressive but not attractive. Or so Bulma thought as she glimpsed it through the windows of the corridor that led from her communal sleeping quarters to the lab she’d been installed in. 

The second ring of buildings outside the complex was almost entirely research and development and along with the inner circle, housing high ranking officers and visiting dignitaries, made a horseshoe shape that flanked the sides and back of the Palace. The remaining space, facing the palace front and shadowed by it, was devoted to a square arena where she had been told officers could settle their differences, high profile prisoners were slaughtered and all manner of blood sport enacted to baying crowds. The arena itself was a shallow platform that rose straight from the earth, with one semi-circular wall of seating that also faced the palace. The arena was easily viewable from the high, wide-windowed corridors that ran between the buildings and these walkways at times became clogged with subjects of Freeza’s rule trying to watch the occasional bit of bloody entertainment.

Bulma was above it as she hurried to her lab. She’d been on Planet Cold long enough to have lost count of the days. In her limited spare time she’d set up a little side program to calculate the hours, days and weeks that she’d been gone in Earth terms but she found it too depressing to look at. She glanced down to see a handful of maintenance workers scrubbing multi-coloured blood from the stones of the arena. She swallowed and looked elsewhere.

The young corporal had been right, her situation was comparatively comfortable to that of the less valuable assets littering the palace and its surroundings. Any one of those maintenance workers would trade places with her in a heartbeat. Not that it was any consolation.

Thinking of the young corporal made her heart sink. He’d been reassigned to another ship in the weeks she’d been working and she’d realised with a sense of guilt that she knew him only as Corporal T-96, and even that only because of the shuttle boarding. She didn’t know where he was off to, only that Captain Vegeta’s entire crew had been reassigned to another ship and captain and sent off to Kami knew where to fight rebels.

Captain Vegeta. Her lip curled with suppressed disgust at the thought, and as she entered her lab the alien technicians who caught her eye immediately averted their gaze. She didn’t care. Just thinking about the man made her stomach churn. She replayed in her mind for the thousandth time her first day here.

The moment she was through vomiting on the dock she’d been forced to her feet and ushered straight to this laboratory. She wasn’t given time to rest, to adjust to the gravity or even to get used to the quarters she’d be staying in for, what she could tell, would be the remainder of her life. Most of her equipment had already arrived and that which had not was on its way. And he was there.

He’d been stood  _ right there _ in the middle of her things, not giving any direction to the oafs manhandling her delicate machines, just stock still, expressionless, with his arms crossed. She had felt a surge of hatred that almost overwhelmed her sensitive stomach. It was perhaps the first time that the sight of a person had make her want to be physically sick. 

In the end it was dignity that had kept her upright, and dignity that led her silently to the lab benches to begin unpacking her life’s work into this plain, white laboratory.

He’d seemed perturbed at her apparent ignorance of his presence, and requested her attention forthwith.

“Can I help you?” She snapped, raising her eyes to meet and hold his gaze. They both narrowed their eyes in mutual dislike.

“You are aware of your purpose here, Earthling?” He snapped back.

She turned from him with practiced unconcern, as if his presence here were no more to her than the presence of a lab stool. 

“I am here to replicate my father’s inventions and adapt them for the use of your warmongering overlord.” Her voice was snide but steady. “Correct?”

“More or less.” He was displeased at her tone, and furthermore she knew she had not entirely hidden the small pleasure she’d gotten from annoying him. “Everyone else get out. Now.”

The sudden chill in the room was palpable. The bodies that had moments before been bustling everywhere suddenly dissipated, some throwing pitying glances her way. Maybe this was it, then. Maybe she’d finally gone too far. Her courage began to falter and she turned swiftly to face him, looking around her for something with which to defend herself, knowing as she did that any attempt would be hopeless.

“Where do you think you are?” He began, calmly. “Does it even begin to occur to you what could happen to you if you continue to run your idiot mouth like that?”

“You don’t scare me.” She lied.

“And yet again you confirm my suspicion that picking you over your father was a mistake.” His tone, still flat and monotonous, had gained a chilly edge. “I hope that you are lying because if you are truly not afraid then you are a stupid, stupid woman. Almost every soldier on this planet could crush your tiny skull in one hand and would do so on a whim. What do you have to protect yourself? Your mind? At a word I could have your father sent here for the same tasks, you are entirely replaceable. If you had any sense of your own good you would keep your thrice damned trap shut and follow your orders. When I speak to you, answer with a yes or no. When I ask a question that requires more you will respond promptly and plainly. You will learn respect and by gods you’d better learn it fast or you will become the evening’s entertainment in the soldiers' mess.”

She was stunned. He hadn’t touched her but his words felt like a slap in the face. Had he called her stupid? And worse, was she?

“That’s quite the threat.” She responded warily.

“It’s no threat. It is what  _ will occur _ should you fail to produce results.” His mask had slipped for the barest of seconds but he was again cold and collected. “I took a risk bringing you here. I endangered my mission deadlines chasing your capsules across the planet. I risked punishment from my ‘warmongering overlord’ when I failed to check in on time because I knew what this technology could mean to our operations. It is imperative therefore that I get results. Your failures will be my failures and I will not hesitate to motivate you as necessary. Am I understood?”

She nodded curtly.

“Do your work and I will not lay a finger on you. Keep your tongue sheathed and nor will any soldier or officer. You have been deemed an asset and as such I have obtained for you protected status; this means that you are off-limits, for as long as you complete your tasks satisfactorily. Do not, however, trust this to protect you if you provoke my men.”

She nodded again. She understood perfectly.

“There are assistants here to aid you who can show you how our technology operates. They will assist you in setting up first a convertible power source. Your overseer will arrive shortly. You will do whatever they tell you to promptly.” He walked towards the door but something compelled him to look back at her. “If you have gods you should pray to them in thanks. You are extremely lucky. There aren’t many smooth skinned mammals in this galaxy, your fate could have been so much worse. ”

She could contain herself no longer. “Lucky?  _ Lucky? _ On Earth I was lucky! I was a freaking heiress, for Kami’s sake. I was the most powerful woman on my planet, I could have and do anything I wanted. I was special, but here? I’m a  _ slave _ .”

He didn’t rebuke her outburst as she feared he would. Instead he levelled his unfathomable gaze at her.

“We’re all slaves here, woman; don’t forget that.” 

And with that he had gone, his white half cape flowing through the door behind him. The same door she’d just closed behind her as she settled in for yet another day’s gruelling work. It never ended.

“I think you will not make progress doing that, Bulma.” Her uncomfortable reverie was interrupted by her overseer’s gentle voice. She looked down and realised she’d taken apart and reassembled the same device more than once while ruminating on her mortifying introduction to life on Planet Cold. For a moment she couldn’t even remember why she’d opened it in the first place. “You are distracted, child. That will not do.”

Bulma looked up at the taller alien. Ala was her name, although she was often referred to as just ‘the overseer’. Her scaly skin was a deeply reflective purple and her distended, hairless cranium was covered by a finely woven scarf that left only her large forehead and high cheek-boned features visible. The scarf was creamy white and from her head it wrapped thickly around her chin and neck, merging seamlessly into her similarly coloured robes and tied with a cloth belt above her presumably humanoid waist; the robe itself hung loosely and covered any form that was beneath. Her eyes were totally black and pupiless, and her arched brows lent her a permanently thoughtful expression. She now turned this thoughtful expression on Bulma.

“Sorry, Ala, I was just ...trying to figure out where the best place to jam a port in this thing would be.” Bulma mumbled, feeling like a chastised child. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Ala, it was just that the creature was so unreadable, and always so calm. She never raised her voice like she’d heard other overseers do. She simply asked questions and provided answers in the same unnervingly gentle manner.

“You need to focus better. You will damage your own work if you do not.” Her voice was odd, deep in tenor but thin in tone, like a dark chocolate voice coming through a low quality radio. That too was off-putting to Bulma.

“Of course.” She agreed reluctantly. It was Ala after all who had helped her convert her equipment to accept the planet’s power outputs which saved weeks of work, and she who was currently aiding Bulma in deciphering the code used on the alien computers so that she could start writing and running her own software. The alien woman had a gift for language and conversion.

Ala drifted away, her gait as regal as her manner was calm. Bulma thought she envied her stillness, but a moment’s reflection gave her the assurance that she’d take fire over ice any day. She turned her attention back to the task at hand. There was no sensible place to put a port without damaging the device, and she needed it to measure the density of capsulated items during test. She sighed and began breaking it down to its component parts. Time to start from scratch.

 

* * *

 

 

Vegeta had resigned himself to the officers’ mess, which was his morning and evening trial. The soldiers’ mess, where he refused to even step foot, was an extensive canteen and bar where off-duty soldiers could eat, drink and yell to their hearts’ content. Some of the maintenance workers would earn themselves some credits by hanging around the mess and offering services. The officers’ mess was of a similar nature but it was much quieter and its occupants conducted themselves with some semblance of decorum. And the food and drink were superior. He had the right to use the Wardroom, the pompous name given to the dining quarters of those ranked captain and higher, but the quietness and comfort of that place was undermined by the constant political machinations of those that frequented it. Zarbon in particular would never respect his clear desire for solitude and had always insisted on joining him at table, ostensibly to force Vegeta into a thin pretence of civility in front of Freeza’s other lackies. Zarbon delighted in such games.

Back in the day he would bunk down with Nappa and Radditz and eat in the soldiers' mess with them, preferring his own kind over other comforts. Now he had no such ties and given the choice between the rowdiness of the soldiers' mess or the toadyism of the Wardroom he chose the middle ground of the officers' mess. The biggest advantage was that here he was never out-ranked, and therefore whichever table or couch he picked out would be his alone; there were few on Planet Cold who would dare ask him if the seat beside him were taken.

It was evening and Vegeta couldn’t remember if he’d even eaten breakfast. He leaned back in his chair and turned his attention instead on the reports he’d brought with him to study. Some canteen lackey always brought him a plate of something when he appeared in the mess, trying to resemble the Wardroom in deference to his rank. He didn’t care what it was, all food tasted the same these days. 

He hated leaving his quarters on-planet. Freeza’s influence was everywhere. Those in favour were insufferable and everyone else constantly fearful. Why? It seemed so stupid to Vegeta. He’d given up on fear a long time ago. You lived or you died, what else mattered? In the meantime there was always work to be done, and what he once remembered as a desperate struggle for dominance had become a dull workaday drudgery. At least on his own ship he could command his own hours and arrange his operations neatly. But now Captain Vegeta was grounded for the foreseeable future, and had nothing to occupy him beyond observing the development of both his conquered planets and acquisitions or withstanding the damnable doctors as they ineptly tinkered with his biomechanics. 

That’s where he’d been most of the day. There were few places on-planet he hated more than the medical labs. He sipped at the glass of water that some quiet servant had placed on his table.

A figure appeared in the corner of Vegeta’s vision. Finally, a server, but the boy was just stood there, waiting for acknowledgement. Clearly he was new.

“Just put it on the table.” Vegeta didn’t even glance up from his reports.

“Please, sir.” The young man spluttered, “Zarbon has requested your presence in...the…”

He faltered as Vegeta’s piercing glare switched to him.

“In the...in the Wardroom.”

He wore a lieutenant's uniform. One of the lowest ranking officers there was, but still it must be galling for him to be sent as an errand boy by Zarbon. That was grunt work.

“Run back to your master, dog. Tell him I’ll be there when I please.” Vegeta returned to his reports.

The lieutenant hesitated. “And when will that be, sir?”

“Excuse me?” Vegeta was surprised in spite of himself.

“Please, sir, Zarbon has instructed that I must not return without you.” He shifted uneasily. “He wishes you to dine with him, and has sent special instructions to the kitc-”

“Enough!” Vegeta put away the device on which he’d been reading the overseer reports with something close to anger. “I will be there shortly. Now go.”

The young officer fled. Vegeta drained his glass of water. What a fool he would look leaving the mess. The other officers would laugh behind their hands to see the proud Prince Vegeta summoned in this manner, he had no doubt they all knew what had just transpired. He would not bow to humiliation, he left the mess with his head held high, his dignity a shield.

In actuality there wasn’t a man in the mess who gave him the slightest notice. All anyone saw was a stand-offish captain change his mind about his dining plans. The servant who arrived with a plate of warm food for him was, however, pleased to be able to sneak the finer meal for herself.

 

* * *

 

He stopped by his rooms for a change of clothes. He’d worn plain clothes to the mess, as his daily stop there was purely utilitarian, but the Wardroom required closer attention to the smaller details. He shed his habitual chest armour and bodysuit to replace them with a set of a higher grade. He chose armour with short shoulder pauldrons from which flowed a white half cape, and soft white boots with gold tips that were only good for lounging, in his opinion. The chest plate had the stamp of his paternal house on the left breast, a mocking gift from Lord Freeza on his first voyage as a Captain.

_ To remind you of home. _

Vegeta frowned, catching a glimpse of himself in the darkened glass of his window. By wearing it he intended to prove that he knew he was being mocked and that he was entirely above such pettiness, but he had the troubling feeling that by doing so he was somehow playing into the lizard’s hands.

Vegeta shook his head. He wasn’t even in the Wardroom and already he was starting to plot and connive like the rest of them. If Freeza took his wearing the “gift” as some kind of victory then let him. Why even care?

The quarters of officers of Vegeta’s rank and above were situated in the inner circle, nearest the palace, and his rooms were a short walk from the Wardroom, though he purposefully took a longer route in the morning and evenings that meant he didn’t have to pass it. A servant opened the doors as he approached and he felt the cloying warmth of the room seeping out.

The large room was laid out like like a series of small lounges, with couches and divans situated around tables of different heights, depending on whether the occupants were planning to drink or dine. There was no visible bar or canteen, but a row of servants lined the back wall near the entrance to the kitchens, always alert to the needs of their masters.

The rest of the complex was minimalist in theme where it wasn’t merely functional, but the interior here was designed to set its occupants apart. The rare rich woods from now extinct species, the cushioned chairs, even the tables were gilt edged with precious metals. The room had been refitted by Zarbon and his taste was visible in every aspect; Vegeta found the overall effect inelegant in its ostentation. And it was always too warm, not helped by noxious gasses issued by those smoking alien pleasure drugs.

“Captain! So nice of you to finally join us.”

The toad himself. Steeling himself for an evening of equal parts tedium and vexation, Captain Vegeta strode into the Wardroom.

 

* * *

 

Bulma’s dormitory was on the inner curve of the third circle, adjacent to the Arena. Along each slightly curved wall were rows of neat single beds under which each occupant stored all they possessed. There was additional storage in the narrow bedside table next to each bed, and the rooms’ occupancies varied from as few as four to upwards of twenty. Those workers that were utilised in research and development had comparatively easy hours and comfortable quarters. They were housed close to the second circle and their labs, unlike the maintenance workers in their hard, cramped bunks in the fourth circle.

To accommodate the surprising numbers of staff and slaves there were four canteens spaced evenly throughout the third circle. Bulma’s morning and evening commute to and from her lab took her via the South-East canteen, and as Vegeta was preparing himself to endure the Wardroom she was herself sitting down to eat.

“That stingey slug thing was working the desserts again.” She remarked to one of her fellows, who nodded his furry head. “Just one piece of Jarmba, when I can  _ see _ she’s got three trays behind her, and more in the kitchen I bet.” She sniffed derisively. A slave on an alien planet she may be but her haughtiness was no more diminished than her sweet tooth.

“It’s ‘Jambi’.” Said a quiet voice from across the table. “A type of sweetened bread containing dried fruit originating from designation F-208.”

“Thank you, Ala.” Bulma said stiffly, embarrassed at having been corrected.

“How do you remember all these things, Ala?” Asked the furry lab assistant.

Ala simply smiled and looked down almost shyly. “I admit that my people can store and recall simple facts at a higher capacity than most, but in this case I claim no superior talents; F-208 is my home planet. I used to eat this dessert as a child, though better prepared than this.”

It was the first time Bulma had heard her overseer mention her origin. Bulma was naturally sociable and had habituated herself reasonably quickly into the lab’s social structure. The biggest surprise had been the varied ways others had come to also be there. Of course the most common story read like her own and she shared wistful memories of home with other captured expatriates of defeated civilisations, but there were those who had been absorbed into Freeza’s empire through means of diplomacy. Ala, she had learned through gossip, was one of them.

“Why do you use the Freeza designation?” Asked a reptilian lab assistant. “Why don’t you call it Fahn?”

Ala stared off for a moment before replying. “It has become our way.”

“You’d think having surrendered they’d at least let you keep your name.” The reptile muttered, stabbing at her food. “I wish  _ my _ government had surrendered. Maybe there’d be more of us left.”

Bulma poked at her food awkwardly. No-one wanted to follow that statement. And why would they? Together they had made a reasonable pretence of normality, they behaved like any colleagues, laughing and joking and gossiping, all striving to recreate the micro-societies they had left behind. To talk this way was to acknowledge what they all really knew, that they were not friends, that they weren’t even really colleagues. Each soul seated at that canteen table, regardless of how they had come to be there, was there by the force and will of others. Pleasant folk some of them may have been, but every moment spent trying to enjoy their company was a moment stolen from each of them and from the loved ones left behind. 

“Well, at least it’s our rest day tomorrow.” Someone said with a half-hearted joviality.

“Have they posted the Arena schedule yet?” Added someone else.

And just like that the conversation found its momentum again. Bulma was amazed at the resilience of these people and their determination to make the best of their realities. She ate and listened and contributed occasionally but the subject of men killing each other for entertainment didn’t much appeal. It wasn’t like the fighting tournaments back home with their focus on skill and display, it was a glorification of violence that appalled her.

“Do you remember when Dodoria snuffed it?” The lab assistant who had killed the earlier conversation said this with unabashed glee on her reptilian face. “His pink guts spread all over the damn place, they were cleaning him up for days.”

“That’s not true,” put in another, “you know very well that it was pretty localized.”

“I saw it with my own eyes, thank you.” She replied huffily. “Vegeta gutted that freak like a farm animal and painted the Arena with him.”

Bulma’s head lifted sharply at the mention of his name.

“Yeah, and everyone thought it would just be a display match and Vegeta was going to get so creamed, and he starts out just dodging all the time, trying not to get hit-”

“-Oh yeah, and everyone thought he was being a coward-”

“Then he’s sees an opening, right? The whole crowd is watching and every bastard can see Dodoria’s left his fat arse wide open on the left-”

“ _ Kidney shot! _ ”

“It was the right, actually.”

“Does it matter?”

“And Dodoria staggered, actually  _ staggered _ -”

“And then this no-planet, nobody monkey prince starts wailing on him, fists flying like he was possessed.”

“I managed to get front row seats for that fight.” The furry faced lab assistant leaned in conspiratorially. “Let me tell you, he was not possessed. I could see his face through the whole thing and all I saw on his face was surprise the first time he landed a hit. That was it. Then he took Dodoria apart like he was  _ bored _ .”

“You know what  _ I  _ heard?” The reptile added, beginning to feel the conversation was drifting away from her control somewhat. “ _ I _ heard that the monkey wasn’t worth shit as a fighter just a few orbits before that, he was barely class 3 or something. Then his teammates get killed and he goes off on all these dangerous missions, getting stronger and stronger, and he didn’t even know he had it in him to take down Dodoria before he stepped into the ring.”

“No-one likes the guy, spikey haired little sadist, so it’s a real testament to how much more people hated Dodoria when Freeza gave the order and they all cheered like maniacs.”

A shudder passed round the table.

“His own right hand man.” Someone else murmured. “He ordered death on him just for being shown up in a fight.”

“And just like that Vegeta slashed him open and spilt his guts on the Arena.” The table fell quiet a moment. “You know, I hated that bastard.”

“I heard Vegeta nearly got mobbed in the officers' mess with people trying to buy him drinks-”

“OK, that’s enough.” Bulma heard her own voice and was startled by its shrillness. The table stared at her before realisation dawned. 

“Oh, your planet...” There was nothing more to say. Talk about the Arena ceased. Talk about Vegeta and other known officers ceased. The table collected themselves.

“The Jambi’s alright today.”

* * *

 

He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t even annoyed. He gritted his teeth and assured himself of that as he stalked back to his quarters. The fact that he had adopted something close to a fighting stance in his gait had nothing to do with the news. Vegeta was calm, unlike the staffers and officers who hurriedly got out of his way.

He found his rooms uneventfully and began the chore of undressing. As he performed the rituals of health and hygiene he thought long and hard about how he wasn’t even the slightest bit furious. Why should he, a trained fighter and accomplished leader of men both by skill and birthright, be upset to be tasked with a menial assignment only just beyond the worth of the average overseer?

After all it was on his insistence that the Capsule technology be salvaged from F-735, and his reputation on the line if it proved to be a waste of resources. It made sense that he should be the one to superintend it. Zarbon had said as much as he lavished Vegeta with his false-praise and back-handed compliments.

What did it matter if this was a deliberate attempt to humiliate him? He tried to convince himself that the sick feeling in his stomach was due to the over-rich food from the Wardroom.

If they expected him to react to this they would be disappointed. When Zarbon told him, with barely concealed ridicule, that he was to engage with the overseers for the Capsule project and a handful of others as a research director for that sector, he gave no outward appearance of acknowledgement of the insult. His guts had seethed violently with suppressed rage as he’d picked at his food, but none of that showed in his calm acquiescence.

“Of course.” He’d said, simply. And later, when Zarbon implied that Vegeta’s involvement was required in the conversation, “Indeed.”

And now, having wrestled his emotions back under his control, he realized that to have been angry in the first place was a waste of energy. Freeza would do with him as he pleased until the end of his days, which would most likely coincide with the day he out-lived his usefulness. Or his entertainment value. To struggle was counter-productive. He would complete his tasks to the best of his ability. That’s all there was to it.

It didn’t stop him from delivering a vicious blow to his wardrobe door, however.

 

* * *

 

In all official capacities they were addressed by their worker IDs, but the furry faced lab assistant was known to Bulma as “Tomlin”. His soft, saggy eyes and blonde fur made her think of an old retriever, which she suspected contributed to her growing regard for him, despite his bumbling ways. He was no great conversationalist but Bulma was prepared to forgive a lot of his faults when he turned those sad canine eyes on her.

He spied the Arena out of the corridor window, and looked at Bulma uneasily. “Sorry about before.” He muttered ruefully. “You know, the Arena and stuff.”

Bulma averted her gaze from the Arena. “Don’t worry about it.”

The rest of the group were still in the canteen. She was tired, and decided to head back to the dorms. She didn’t want to admit that she appreciated the male company. She’d been noticing more and more the idle stares from burly aliens she passed on her way to the lab. She hated that she so wanted the protection.

“Did he...are you…?” Tomlin swallowed. “How was your journey here?”

It took Bulma a few moments to understand what Tomlin was asking.

“Oh, Kami, no. I was never ...no.” She recoiled at his suggestion.

“Good, good.”

They walked in silence for a while.

“So why do you hate Vegeta so much?”

“Why?” She was taken aback by his question. “He abducted me and brought me to this freezing hell hole. Why wouldn’t I hate him?”

“Because he could’ve been anyone.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“He’s not the only captain in the fleet. Who do you think sent him there in the first place?” He lowered his tone. “Apparently he’s in hot water right now because he didn’t exactly follow orders anyway.”

“Orders?”

Tomlin smiled in what he probably thought was a knowing way. “Well, put it this way. If he’d done what he’d been ordered to do, you’d be dead.”

“I see.” There wasn’t malicious bone in Tomlin’s body but she couldn’t keep the coldness from her voice. He’d never approached this subject before, so why he refused to drop it now when she was so clearly uncomfortable she couldn’t fathom.

“Yup, heard some soldiers gossiping about it.” He informed her proudly, as if this were some achievement. “He’s been grounded and all his crew got reassigned.”

“Do you know where?” She asked suddenly. Mention of Vegeta’s old crew reminded her of T-96 and that she still didn’t know what had become of him.

“Not me, no. But if you access the right personnel files you can see where anyone is.” He shrugged. “I don’t know how, that’s all done in admin in the first circle, but none of the databases operate on closed systems so if you knew where to look you could probably access them. Of course it’ll all be encrypted.”

“Encrypted huh?”

“Yeah, ‘cuz all the databases are network linked, so they have pretty strong security to separate departments.”

Well, Bulma thought to herself, Tomlin’s gossip was useful for something after all. She knew what she’d be doing on  _ her _ rest day.

 


	4. Surviving

Chapter 4 - Surviving

 

_ He had to hand it to the rebels, they’d managed to hide a substantial arsenal from Freeza’s forces, and they were using it to good effect. For every two rebels put down Vegeta had lost at least one man and many more were still hidden. Everywhere he looked there was blood and terror on both sides. His tail twitched reflexively; Vegeta was almost enjoying himself. _

_ “Form up!” He bellowed, as the formation began to falter. “Hold ranks!”  _

_ His men advanced in an arrow-head phalanx. Every fallen man was instantly replaced by the man behind him as they ploughed relentlessly through the enemy. The layout of the stronghold, having been hewed from naturally occurring caverns, necessitated they fight on foot. His men were quickly discovering that to take to the air in this claustrophobic environment made them immediate targets for the rebels’ new weaponry. He briefly examined a fallen Freeza soldier whose corpse slumped against the wall. His chest was a smoking cavity that dripped gore where it wasn’t simply charred. Heat and Ki. It was ingenious really, even if it was their death warrant. _

_ He’d arrived on the planet with a shipful of soldiers, with instruction to investigate the anomalous readings returned by Freeza’s satellites. The strange spikes of Ki in regions that by rights should be unpopulated were now perfectly explained; the satellites were reading the results of the rebels’ illegal experiments, not far under the ground. A strange oversight, he thought, that they hadn’t been aware of the extent of their surveillance. Something else that was bothering him was how the rebels had been discovered. Vegeta’s ship had detected hundreds more lifesigns than what records said should have been there, and once on planet it took only a quick scan with a scouter to detect the energies that were in the caverns beneath the outpost. It was too easy. He was beginning to think that they wanted to instigate this battle, on their own turf. But why? Another thing to add to the report he was writing in his head. _

_ A blast of searing Ki sizzled past his face and he returned his focus to the battle at hand. He heard it thud into the body of the man behind him with a sickening fizzing noise. Vegeta smirked at the soldier’s screams; they meant he was in better shape than the poor souls he was stepping over.  _

_ At first the fighting had been scrappy. A skirmish had broken out on the surface almost before Vegeta had begun interrogation. The rebels posing as Freeza scientists and soldiers feigned ignorance regarding the satellite data, so Vegeta ordered his men to start tearing up the floor. Immediately the rebels launched into a desperate attack, and he’d allowed his men free reign to fight as they pleased. He even got to play a little himself, picking out the strongest of the rebels for his own amusement. He sent soldiers to the upper floors to flush out the skeleton force that manned the stronghold and noted with satisfaction as every native lifesign on his scouter blinked out of existence. Even as good as his crew were he couldn’t afford to be flanked when he advanced into the occupied catacombs. _

_ The enemy soldiers waiting below were far more organized, and better equipped. The new technology Vegeta faced could cut through armour like a hot knife through butter. He’d lost an entire front line of men before retreating, forming proper ranks with shield producers and blasters up front. As he watched his men now advancing through the corridors, forcing the rebels back with the their shields, he made a mental note to master the Ki shield at some point. It might be useful.  _

_ As far as he could ascertain from the directions of the various power levels, the underground structure was on a single level. It was accessed via a lone ladder from a hidden hatch in a basement room of the sanctioned structure above that Vegeta had since blasted wider to accommodate more men. It opened into a chamber with only one other exit, so the men left at the rear only had to hold the hatch while the men in front were free to press on without fear of their rear guard being flanked. The only way forward led down a curving panelled corridor with rough stone ceilings, from which lighting was strung intermittently. It was also brimming with enemy soldiers. _

_ From the moment the fighting had commenced upstairs the rebels below had been organising their forces within this corridor. They had evidently planned to bottle-neck Vegeta’s men and create a kill zone within the entrance chamber, which might have worked had Vegeta not specifically added shield producing species to his crew for this assignment. As such the arrow-head formation they had adopted on his command had seen to it that they broke the enemy formation and decimated the force that had so confidently engaged them. Their weapons were impressive but seemed to have a crippling recharge time and once engaged in melee combat the rebel fighters were without hope. Once past the first wave of defenders they straightened into a loose shield wall that rolled inexorably over every barrier. _

_ They were moving pretty swiftly through the corridor now, despite the organised ranks of rebels stationed at intervals along it. The numbers they had must have been too few to merit more than the measly handfuls of fighters they faced at each juncture. These men could only be here to slow them down, he surmised, as they could have no hope of actually defeating them. There was something else going on here, he knew it. _

_ Another blast flew precariously close, grazing his neck and leaving the tiniest of burns. It stung and Vegeta cursed his own inattention. He clocked immediately the rebel that had sent it and flung his own ki ball at him, which hurled the panicked man into the fighters behind him and broke their line. The melee fighters in his front line leapt on the fallen enemies, flanking the remaining formation and breaking another desperate blockade. _

_ They pushed forward at a run now, confidence building as their rate of casualties fell and the rebels’ rose. It was at this moment that the niggling concern at the back of Vegeta’s mind blossomed into realisation. _

_ “Stop!” He yelled. “Hold the line! March in time you fools!” _

_ The soldiers didn’t see the laser triggers as they thundered through them, and for the majority of the front ranks they didn’t feel the explosions. It happened so fast that their nervous systems didn’t have time to inform them how dead they were about to be. Vegeta, however, was in a prime position to witness the grisly spectacle in its entirety. _

_ Every second of it seemed to last a life-time. As the front line of soldiers ran through the triggers the wall to the left of them bulged grossly then erupted in a massive gout of heat and energy that completely disintegrated the soldiers caught in it. Vegeta turned with horrified foresight to the adjacent wall just in time to see it follow suit. He barely got his own guard up in time as the floor just beyond began to bulge and the pre-laid charges went off, evaporating those soldiers who had outrun the first explosions. Through the shimmering haze of heat and blood the shadows of enemy soldiers were apparent beyond the blast radius. He squinted, trying to see what they were carrying, before the first of the projectiles came flying into the massed, now terrified Freeza soldiers. _

_ Each projectile separated into several smaller projectiles that showered men not with the explosions they expected but concentrated beams of pain. The grenades produced the same sort of power that the laser guns did but in all directions, and while nowhere near as devastating as the explosion almost every mark hit was carved up like a butchered animal. _

_ Vegeta hadn’t seen the second wave of grenades that actually hit him, although he watched with horror the graceful arc of the first as they felled his soldiers. It was his own mistake, he later realised, that he stared flabbergasted at them instead of bolstering his own defences against the unexpected onslaught. As such he was completely unprepared for the agony that resulted from his error. _

_ The first beam struck his face at an angle, cleaving a deep gash between his nose and his left eye. It was the second more direct hit that caused the eye to boil rapidly and explode in its socket. One of them, he could never remember which, had also dissolved a chunk of his ear. The pain was indescribable.  _

_For a blissful moment his world became void of all sensation, he heard nothing, saw nothing and felt nothing._ _Everything was white. Then it was white hot. Then, after an eternity squeezed into a few seconds, he heard at the edge of his consciousness a wild, animal shriek. He couldn’t reconcile that sound with its source, though the bubble of rationality he retained confirmed it was his own scream. And with that moment of realization the reality of his unrelenting pain consumed him like a tidal wave of excruciating madness. Half of his face was a trickling river of blood, the cauterizing effect of the burn being the only thing that stopped him from bleeding out there and then. He felt hot, and with his only recourse of feeling being rage his Saiyan blood responded in characteristic fashion._

_ Later, as he was bundled into a stasis pod by his terrified crewmen, he was only partially aware of the events that had just occurred. He remembered regaining partial sight of one eye, enough to perceive the enemy in front of him and little else. Some of what he had come to think of as “the enemy” in the resultant massacre had turned out to be his own men trying to restrain him in light of his gravely wounded condition. He didn’t care. He was beyond reason and carved through droves of thinking, feeling meat bags in his bottomless rage, their screams unheard beneath his own. _

_ He tore through the rebels that were left, disassociating limbs and spirits from bodies with the ruthless abandon of the genuinely insane. When there was no-one left to kill, and no-one approached him, he finally collapsed to his hands and knees as his adrenaline rush gave way to his blood loss. He heaved, and vomited right there in front of his men who cautiously began to close in on him as one would a violent animal. He staggered to his feet, snarling and spitting at them, but the exertion of merely standing was now too much and his legs gave way. It wasn’t graceful, he was aware of that at least as his body folded up under him and his face slapped wetly into his own blood and vomit, his consciousness leaving him just a few seconds too late to spare him the knowledge of that indignity.  _

_ For sparse instances he was aware of being fumbled and manhandled by his men, through the building, to the ship, into a stasis pod, but his vision was so caked with blood and debris that he was effectively blind for those brief periods of lucidity. The voices he heard all sounded like they were coming to him from far away, or through water. _

_ Between each wakeful spell the darkness seeped in around him and he tried to give in to it. He tried desperately to die and escape the pain. But like every occasion preceding this one he couldn’t drown in the darkness, merely float, his new bedfellow the unbearable agony of a red raw, empty eye-socket.  _

* * *

 

The worker’s living quarters, such as they were, were arranged and appointed by the overseers and with the sheer range and volume of species to accommodate it could be a gargantuan undertaking. Ala was responsible for Bulma’s current establishment, where she shared a six-berth room with four other female mammals and one whose species reproduced asexually. That was another culture shock for Bulma.

Tomlin walked her all the way to the door.

“Thanks for the company.” She smiled at him as she slipped her keycard into the slot.

He smiled back and stood almost protectively behind her as she opened the door. She turned from him to enter the dimly lit bedroom but was surprised to feel resistance from the door as she tried to close it. She had a sudden misgiving that sat coldly in the pit of her stomach as she snapped a glance over her shoulder. Tomlin was blocking the door.

He stepped quickly inside and shut the door behind him before putting an arm around Bulma’s waist and drawing her towards him. He was surprisingly strong. She felt his hands pawing at her breasts and tugging clumsily at her tucked in shirt, trying to get under her clothes.

“Wait!” She knew it was a weak protest but it was the best she had at short notice. “What are you doing, Tom? Stop!”

She raised her arms and pushed against his lab-coated chest in the dim light. 

“Stop messing around, Bulma,” he urged, “the others will be back soon.”

“What? Get off me!” Bulma suddenly remembered herself and shoved with all her might, and Tomlin thudded against the closed door. “What the fuck, Tomlin!”

It was hard to see in the dark but she could sense his shock. She felt sick with fear but her character asserted itself and she experienced a sudden stab of insulted rage.

“How  _ dare _ you! Who do you think you  _ are _ ?” She spat furiously.

“But ...I thought you liked me.” He whined in a small voice.

“Not like  _ that _ !” She took a physical step back, clutching her fists protectively to her chest.

“Then why did you invite me back to your room?”

“I didn’t! You offered to walk with me - and now I see why, you sick freak.” 

“Shush, Bulma, lower your voice!” He begged. “You’ll bring the patrol round, you know the rules about fraternizing-”

“Fraternizing?  _ Fraternizing _ ? Is that what you think you just tried to do?” She registered on some level the hurt in his voice but she didn’t care. She was disgusted, insulted, enraged and terrified all at once as she pointed emphatically at the door. “Get out now or I’ll scream so loud Freeza himself will hear it!”

For a scant second she feared he wouldn’t, that he would advance on her anyway, but he backed away like a beaten dog and scurried from the room without so much as a backwards glance at her. As soon as the door clicked shut she leapt at it and tested the locking mechanism with her shaking fingers. As soon as she was satisfied that she was as secure as it was possible to be she retreated to her bed, where she flung herself down, shaking with fear and adrenaline, and wept.

* * *

 

“As you know some of the internal wiring has warped again, sir, which is what caused the reduced mobility of your socket orb scouter.” The nervous young healer informed him. “Your body is still trying to reject the prosthetic and force it out. I must say your natural Saiyan healing is astounding, if only we’d been able to study more of your race…”

He sensed even through his nervous babble that he’d misstepped and gulped down his words into an awkward silence. It persisted far too long and eventually Vegeta broke it.

“So what do you need to do?” He hadn’t discounted killing the healer for his remark.

“Well,” he swallowed, “we will have to remove the plating and reshape the wiring so that you can have full rotation of the orb again. Sooner rather than later is best.”

He closed his good eye, sighing inwardly. After his last check-up he’d known something like this would be necessary. He’d been unable to fully control the false eye that acted as his scouter for several cycles, and had hoped that it would be an issue of programming bugs, fixed in a few tedious hours by a software technician. But no, this would be yet another surgery. He was so sick of surgery.

“Fine. You are prepared?” He replied.

“We are.” The healer shifted his weight. “Healer Makky thought you would want to proceed as soon as possible.”

“Healer Makky is familiar with my preferences. So be it, lead on.”

The healer was little more than a boy but had shown, he was informed, not inconsiderable talent for doctoring and as such had been absorbed from lowly slave ranks into the healing class. Since then his penchant for organisation and research had put the boy in the lofty position of running the lab that maintained his scouter. Whilst such service had its own dangers, and Vegeta almost smiled at the notion that serving him was one of the greatest, it was one of the most desired non-combat position on Planet Cold. Doctors had the best rooms and were treated with something close to respect by soldiers and officers. It was, in a word, cushy.

Vegeta’s original injuries had all but healed many moons ago but the ongoing physical trauma had not subsided thanks to the clunky mechanisms that Freeza’s minions had cooked up. Every upgrade and every advancement in their research provided at best a temporary relief and came always with a new set of problems to deal with. At first the internal components had caused constant severe inflammation, something that was still not resolved but was merely kept at bay by a constant flow of anti-inflammatory drugs. And then there had been the issue of getting it to respond to brain signals, an inexact and time consuming process. Later there had been the environmental issues, such as when uncoated metal parts corroded quickly in certain atmospheres, the time a planet’s gravity had caused a delicate chip to come loose and remove all functionality, and the first time he and his “waterproof” upgrade were caught in a severe rainstorm and it shorted out with a painful electric shock. Sometimes he wondered if it wouldn’t be better to dispense with the hack-job entirely, but the benefits of the technology were undoubtable. 

Even with its current reduced function Vegeta could zero in on the spirit energy of everyone in the building, in any one direction, store images and audio, send and receive information and messages and so much more with only the strength of his mind. The thing was programmed to respond to his brainwaves, and the concept was simple on the surface; he would be told by the technician what the newly invented function was for and then they would map the function to the appropriate mental command. He had to spend hours trying not to think of anything as they calibrated, tested, re-calibrated, tested … and then there was the endless maintenance.

His body could heal most injuries, given time and appropriate nutrition, but every knock, dent or malfunction in his prosthesis meant another trip to the ward and another interminable session of painful, ham-handed tinkering. The doctors, if asked, would rejoin that it was his own fault if he found repairs and maintenance painful or boring as he refused all anesthetic. But for Vegeta the offer of anesthetic over keeping his wits firmly within his grip was not a matter of choice; he could never accept drugs that would force him into unwakeable sleep or reduce his control over his body in any way, it wasn’t an option because the thought repulsed him so completely.

The young healer had taken Vegeta into the small operating theatre that was already outfitted for his service. The familiar doctors bustled about in the background, avoiding his cold gaze. He gestured to the usual place, the operating chair with its silly head-vice and wrist shackles. It was bad enough that he had to endure their repulsive hands all over his skin but to be expected to pretend that their puny restraints could keep him controlled was almost intolerable. The weak resistance offered by the vice, however, did help him to keep his head still. He disdainfully lowered himself onto the familiar surface.

“Before we get started, sir, may I show you something?” The nervous boy gestured to another new face, who hurried over with a box. The boy took the box with a murmured thanks, and Vegeta noted that his more experienced fellows all turned from him and busied themselves. The box was opened to reveal several small vials full of yellow-ish liquid.

“These anesthetics have been developed over the last few orbits to numb pain without reducing the patient’s awareness or mobility.” He professed eagerly. “We’ve been using the research gathered from the study of your brain signals and these drugs shut down those functions that cause the perception of pain without dulling any other senses.”

Vegeta gave him a level stare but said nothing. The boy was encouraged by his lack of aggression and stepped a fraction closer to give the prince a better look.

“This procedure is always unavoidably painful, and we could work so much quicker if you would just allow us to anesthetize your high-”

Vegeta’s fist snapped out and knocked the precious little box from the boy’s hands. It shattered on the hard tiled floor. Healer Makky, more familiar with Vegeta and expecting something of this nature, appeared suddenly behind the boy and lent him a steadying hand.

“Si’eth is young, your highness.” She explained placatingly. “He is only trying to do what he thinks best. I think you have now persuaded him better than we could have of his ...incorrectness.”

“I require no anesthetic.” Was Vegeta’s only reply. Some of the vials had smashed and now oozed their odourless contents on the pristine floor. He swung his legs up onto the chair and waited as they finished the preparation for the procedure.

“Of course, your highness.” She bowed, relieved. “Thank you for your understanding.”

He made no reply. He couldn’t, because if he did he might have to confront the knowledge he hid from even himself, that without the endurance of this pain he could not experience its alleviation, and without that he didn’t know what he had left to feel.

* * *

 

Bulma rose early and dressed herself in the plain tunic and pants that all servants were provided with. She was washed and had left the dormitory as the other occupants began to stir. She wanted no part of their morning chatter.

She headed for the canteen, avoiding every eye and only maintaining her proud walk with genuine effort. She found herself resisting a desire to scurry, to be unnoticed, to make herself  _ small _ . She had finally, after months of surviving on this harsh planet with its hostile denizens, encountered a real physical danger and the source of it was mortifying. She had thought of Tomlin as a sort of protection, that the presence of a witness might somehow deter the notorious soldiers from making good on their suggestive leers. She wondered now if the reality had been the other way round, that it was Tomlin who sought her alone, without witnesses. A stab of nausea hit her as she thought of the number of times she might have been caught by him, and what he would have done if she hadn’t threatened to attract the guards. Had he expected her to struggle? Or did he think she would be too scared? In her rational mind she knew the answer. 

Tomlin had no idea what he had done. Tomlin thought his actions were acceptable and desired. Tomlin would never understand how much his seemingly harmless overture had hurt Bulma.

Because now she knew for fact what she had been trying to deny for so long, that there was no one on Planet Cold who wouldn’t hurt her, whether they realised it or not.

It was inevitable really. With so many alien cultures trying to co-exist there had to be frictions and mishaps, what if the friendly Earth behaviour that Bulma had presented to Tomlin was, on his planet, a clear invitation for “fraternization”? Would that make it her fault? Was it her fault he’d assaulted her? She felt sick again but still the thought persisted.

He didn’t even realize it was an assault of course, but the slight soreness of where he’d gripped her breast too eagerly bore no argument. Since the event her mood had fluctuated between disgust, hopelessness and anger, and as she entered the canteen she felt the latter. Her hair may have grown out of it’s chic pixie cut and her skin-care regime had suffered somewhat but she still had access to mirrors, and Bulma Briefs’ legendary ego would never rate herself low enough to match some shaggy lab attendant with watery eyes. Even if he hadn’t meant to hurt her, how  _ dare  _ he assume that he was anywhere on her level? His squashed dog face and the slobber matted in his ridiculous furry chin swam into her mental vision and she shuddered as she joined the queue for breakfast. Her stomach lurched and the anger subsided again into revulsion; of herself or Tomlin, she couldn’t quite decide. Either way she knew she wouldn’t be eating much of the porridge-like slop on her tray as she spied an unoccupied seat. The staff who filled most of the table wore medical uniforms, and politely acquiesced to her mumbled request to join them.

“Thanks.” She said quietly and seated herself at the end of their table. She poked despondently at her food.

“So what were you saying, Si’eth?” Asked one of the doctors. They were mostly of the crocodilian race that largely staffed the medical departments, their brightly coloured mohawks and sharp teeth at odds with their pleasant personalities, but the young healer addressed looked almost human. He shook his head with a grimace.

Usually she enjoyed conversing with their department, but today Bulma retreated into her own thoughts while they talked among themselves. She heard something about anesthetic and some sort of violence that had occurred the evening before.

“I just wanted to help him.” Si’eth sighed. “I’ve looked over all his medical files, all his archive footage and I don’t care who you are, no-one deserves to live with that kind of pain, not even Vegeta.”

Bulma’s gaze snapped up to the young man’s face at the mention of that name. She didn’t know why she was interested, but the rush of undiluted fury she felt at his name was a blessed distraction from the self-disgust she battled currently. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, leaning forwards slightly, “who did you say?”

Si’eth was surprised to be addressed from this direction but smiled all the same. He was a mild sort, gentle and accepting of all. “I thought you would know, considering your sector answers to him: Prince Vegeta.”

“My sector?”

“I’ve seen you sat with others from the Capsule development lab, I assumed you were part of their department?”

“Yes, I am.” She replied, blankly. “The Capsule tech is from my planet.”

“Oh, I see. You’re the Earthling they brought back.” His smile faded and was replaced by an apologetic grimace. “Please forgive my unguarded talk. I didn’t mean to offend.”

“Never mind that, what does he have to do with my department?”

“Do you not know?” Si’eth glanced around awkwardly. “Your overseer now officially reports to Prince Vegeta, as do all other overseers and departments in your sector. He had already been monitoring your performance, had you not noticed?”

She realised she had. He made regular trips to the lab, only ever speaking to Ala but his presence was enough to spur activity in her uneasy colleagues. She’d never really thought about it before, as a Captain his involvement in her work should have ended with his delivery of her, but it hadn’t. But then he’d made it clear that first day, hadn’t he? He had a vested interest in the success of her work, given it was he that had insisted on acquiring it. But what did this mean officially? Was he just some other kind of overseer now?

“I’m sorry,” he apologised again, “I didn’t realise it wasn’t yet common knowledge. I suppose it is between your overseer and his highness.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She said dismissively. She realised the table had gone quiet and felt awkwardness of it. “So, uh, what’s going on in your lab right now?”

Si’eth grimaced again and recounted his experience with the Prince the previous day, from his initial examination, to the grisly operation itself. It had gone well over schedule as in his earnestness to avoid unnecessary pain he had taken painstaking care.

Bulma’s tasteless porridge was forgotten as the boy doctor told all, and she felt a fleeting stab of pity. She didn’t recognise it at first, because it was for Vegeta.

“I thought I could make a difference.” He sighed. “I thought maybe no-one else had tried hard enough. I was foolish.”

“You’re too hard on yourself.” A colleague reassured him. 

“I know he would refuse any pain relief I offered, but I can’t help but feel responsible. There must be something I can do.”

“Don’t worry yourself over the likes of him.” Snorted another. “The Saiyan is insane, it is known. Let him sleep in the bed he makes himself.”

“I’m a healer.” Si’eth replied almost heatedly. “It’s in my very blood, I cure the sick and hurt and alleviate their pain. The recipient matters not!”

She saw plainly his passion for his calling. It was about the purity of the work and she admired those qualities that made him who he was even as she recognized them in herself. The closest she came to happiness on this planet were those times she was so immersed in her work that the world around her seemed to fade. She understood, if abstractly, why he cared so much about his patient, despite the damning consensus against him.

“But technology here is so advanced.” She put in. “How have you not moved on from bionic augmentation that causes so much tissue trauma?”

“That’s the thing, even if we had he refuses to go under full anaesthetic and there isn’t a reputable doctor who’ll attempt it without. Besides which, he’s yet to see a design impressive enough to tempt him.  _ Better the devil you know _ , as they say.”

“The devil you know.” She repeated, thoughtfully.

 

The devil  _ she _ knew was keeping her blissfully pre-occupied as she wandered in the direction of her lab. Thoughts of Tomlin were now frequent but manageable interruptions as she pondered this new problem: Vegeta directing her department. Would anything really change? It’s not like he’d have anything to do with her, Ala would be the only one to suffer his personality, but what did the alien prince know about research and development? Did he understand that these things required time and effort, or would he be like every middle manager she’d ever fired who thought barking at scientists would somehow make code compile faster?

Most interestingly was the new feeling she had to add to all this, a stunted sort of pity for him. If what the doctors had told her was true then the cybernetic monstrosity that clung to his face was a constant source of pain. Inflammation, tissue rejection, headaches, and even simple itching were his daily companions, and yet he seemed to take pride in never letting the discomfort show. And then there was simple curiosity. She resolved that when she was finished with her main objective of the day she would see what she could dig up in the systems about his scouter. After all she’d be lying if she claimed that his augmentation didn’t interest her scientifically. Who knew, maybe when the capsule tech no longer required her careful hand at the wheel she’d turn her mind to cybernetics. If it was allowed, anyway.

She crossed the threshold of her lab without incident, passing few other individuals. Most of the researchers in this sector had their rest day simultaneously so she was not surprised to find her lab in darkness. She didn’t draw attention to herself by switching on the main lights, navigating to her usual workstation by the safety lights that glowed gently blue-white from the security strips that banded every wall. Each strip, though no thicker than her thumb, absorbed light as well as emitting it, storing the light information as video like a camera, only instead of a focal lens the strips encompassed the entire room. At any given time security staff could access a full 360 degree visual of any room and its occupants. She’d yet to see a room, corridor or lab without these strips installed.

First things first, Bulma thought to herself, check the hardware.

If the systems were all connected they’d be wired in via some sort of local mainframe, she surmised, and through that she hoped to sneak her way into other departments. She ducked under her desk and examined the wiring from her terminal. She knew the terminals operated as slave units to a master unit, and she was sure that if she figured out which terminal was powering the others she’d have a way into the full system. She was squinting to try to make out the alien text that labelled a port when the lights flickered on, harshly bright to Bulma’s nightvision.

“Bulma, you should not be here.”

A voice spoke from the doorway and Bulma froze under her desk. She felt the creeping sensations of guilt as she realised who addressed her. As such she hastily removed herself from under the desk.

“Good morning, Ala.” She said, meeting her overseer’s gaze with forced jollity. “Having a nice day off?”

Ala’s expression, always hard to read at the best of times, was further obscured by her scarves. Nevertheless Bulma thought she saw her frown.

“Why aren’t you with the others?” Her voice was quiet but firm.

“I’m just catching up on some work, Ala.” Bulma lied.

Ala didn’t reply, but something about her gaze changed subtly as she stared intently at Bulma. As those black eyes bored into Bulma she felt an odd warmth come over her, and she recalled to mind her original conversation with Tomlin regarding the personnel database and with it her current intention. Thinking about Tomlin, however, made her stomach clench in disgust and she had to fight hard to repress the vivid recall of the previous evening that threatened to crowd her vision. She closed her eyes a moment and tried to swallow the nausea but she was snapped back to the present by Ala’s suddenly gentle voice.

“Bulma.” The alien woman was much further into the room, but the workstation was still between them. “I think we both know you’re not here to work on the capsules. I think you should go back to your room and rest.”

Bulma said nothing. Something in the back of her mind was nagging at her but she couldn’t put her finger on what was wrong. She brushed the feeling aside, trying to meet Ala’s eye again.

“I’m good, just playing around with the system a little, you know? I can’t get away with this in work time.” She played her comment off with a laugh, praying that Ala didn’t see through her ploy. It seemed to work. Ala narrowed her eyes but began to withdraw nonetheless.

“Alright, as you say. Just be careful not to do anything that could be ...misconstrued. Please keep the lights on while you’re in here. You don’t want anyone to think you’re trying to be secretive.” She made her way to the door but turned back to glance one last time at Bulma. “Oh, and the mainframe is linked into terminal 3, I think you’ll find. There’s an admin account and it’s all very heavily encrypted of course, not that you’ll have  _ any  _ desire to access it, I’m sure.” And with that she was gone.

Bulma stared after her, nonplussed. Perhaps she was more obvious than she realised. It didn’t matter, she told herself as she booted up terminal 3, she had a system to hack and no amount of puzzling over Ala’s insight was going to make  _ that  _ job easier.

* * *

 

Vegeta didn’t strictly have rest days. As a director he could choose his own hours as he’d been accustomed to do as a captain. While the lab staff took any and all opportunity to recuperate he was usually perfectly capable of finding work for himself, even if that meant sitting in front of a screen analysing the data that the overseers had dutifully organised for him. This day however he had to admit defeat. He’d already been keeping tabs on the performance of the capsule tech even before he knew he’d be directing that department, and the reports that were meant to bring him up to speed on every other lab he was now directing were too shallow to occupy more than a morning.

His lip twitched in the suppression of a grimace. That finicky new doctor they’d inflicted on him had taken his time last night, and Vegeta had endured every second of it with his customary stoicism. Parts of him had screamed at him to lash out, to grab the boy by his skinny neck and wring the life out of him, but those voices were always far away in his psyche and easily ignored. 

Today, he thought to himself, it might be prudent to exercise.

There were many places on the compound where a soldier might train but Vegeta didn’t care for the communal nature of the gyms. Besides which, he needed to distract himself from the stinging, itching mess that was his postoperative state. 

With this in mind, after breakfast he took himself to the Research and Development department. The labs for which he was responsible were all clustered in the same area, and the one he was looking for was not undergoing a rest day. On the contrary it was abuzz with activity. When he pushed through the doors the overseer made a beeline for him.

“Prince Vegeta!” The alien greeted him with deferential surprise. “We had not thought to see you yet, director, as our reports were  _ very  _ comprehensive. We would not be in such disarray had we been forewarned of your visit.”

He stared down his nose at the overseer and his suicidal hints that Vegeta was not welcome, but not before seeing that the lab was indeed in a state of mild chaos.

“What happened here?” He asked perfunctorily.

“Ah well,” he made a sweeping gesture that encompassed the broken test tubes and knocked over stools. “You can imagine how it is when one is trying to develop new strains of Saibamen. One little slip with an untested batch and - whoops! - one’s lab becomes a battlefield.”

“Indeed.” Vegeta turned his cold glare onto the rest of the scientists. “I see no Saibaman here. Is it contained then?”

“Astutely guessed, sir, quite right.” Nodded the ingratiating little creature. “One of my researchers managed to trap it in the testing room, without casualty to ourselves. The newest strain is proving to be highly volatile, lacking the obedience of their predecessors. We have of course sent for a squad of exterminators who will be here any-”

“There is no need. You may cancel the order, I will destroy it.” Vegeta strode through the lab towards the thick, reinforced hatch that led into the testing room. He peered through the toughened glass observation window to glimpse the little monster hissing and spitting at him from its confinement.

“But your highness, we have this situation in hand, I assure you-”

“I came here to see the fruits of your labour and to get a touch of exercise.” Vegeta cut him off again. “I see no better opportunity to do both than to test a few of your new Saibamen. Have someone introduce a few more into the test room for me.”

“They are very unpredictable sir-” the overseer began to object, but a look from Vegeta stopped him. Instead he jerked his head to one of his assistants who immediately complied. The assistant inserted a large syringe into an aperture in the wall, which immediately transferred the contents into the testing room. The assistant turned on the audio relay from the test room and Vegeta raised an eyebrow a fraction of an inch at the snarling that issued as the new Saibamen took form.

The test room functioned with the airlock principal, in that there were two doors to get in with a small space between them, to allow someone to enter without releasing the trapped occupant. Vegeta stood before it with waning patience.

“What are you waiting for?” He demanded. “Let me in this instant.”

Grimacing and still not quite ready to cancel the squad of exterminators, the lab staff complied.

* * *

 

She couldn’t believe the ease with which she had bypassed the encryption on the terminal and dipped into the system proper. It was like she was possessed. As each digital barrier presented itself the solutions all seemed so simple, and at times she realised that she knew the solutions before the problems had even arisen. At first she put it down to her own genius and a modicum of luck, but soon niggling doubts began to gnaw at her. No-one is this lucky, she thought, as one of her random password guesses got a hit. She pushed the doubts aside with a frown. True, she’d never relied this heavily - or this successfully - on her luck but maybe she was finally reaping her backlog of good karma. Besides, what were the other explanations? That Ala had somehow set this up? That was pure absurdity. Every system had a back door and she had found it, simple.

She glanced at the timer in the corner and grinned despite her doubts. She had a nearly three hours left until she’d be expected in the canteen for the lunch and she was only a few clicks away from her goal. She just had to find him now

It was her first major challenge and it took a good chunk of her time. But as she sieved through page after page of functions and options she found the database she needed: Personnel Index.

Almost laughing with triumph she opened the search function and inputted T-96’s personnel code and sat back with sanguine patience. The computer processed her request, and then T-96’s file flashed on screen in its entirety. Bulma froze, her smile sliding from her face as her triumph turned to ash in her mouth.

 

Designation: T-96 Status: **Deceased** Species: Gurian   Dep: Military Rank: Corporal Current Deployment: N/A

 

The file went on, detailing the estimated time and manner of his death, under whom he was deployed, his last mission ID, details on his height, weight, health and former deployments. She read on in morbid horror. She read every line and upon completion she still did not know his true name.

Not a woman prone to doubting herself, the self-reproach she now experienced was bitter. It wasn’t that she’d gotten so very close to him, she hadn’t, but he had been kind to her when he had nothing to gain from it and she hadn’t even bothered to learn such a simple thing about him. And now he was dead. She felt irrationally responsible, like his death was due to her negligence. She forced herself to read the file again, looking for details about who he was. But the file was meticulously impersonal. It could have been describing a robot for all the information it told her about the boy. She closed it.

The smug satisfaction she’d felt breaking into the administrative system was gone now. She considered just logging out and leaving but then she remembered her other errand. She hesitated a moment, and then ruefully executed another personnel search.


	5. Understanding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I recommend this piece of art by my beta reader SaiyanHajime. He's a very talented artist who made me this wonderful tribute: http://saijanbulma.tumblr.com/post/140353747615/saijanbulma-so-im-doing-a-fic-its-a-big

Chapter 5 - Understanding

 

_ Vegeta awoke in pain, a fulsome aching that split his head in two. With every beat of his heart the pain pulsed over his face, and teetering on the edge of consciousness he began to remember. _

_ The mission. The battle. The explosion...he remembered. _

_ He tried to open his eyes but was rewarded with a sharp jolt of agony. Fighting down the urge to vomit he pushed through, his scream muffled by the breathing apparatus secured to his mouth. His vision swam green, then light burned his eyes. _

_ Eyes… _

_ Eye. _

_ Something wasn’t right. _

_ He gripped the wires of the healing tank in both fists and pulled, tearing them from their fastenings. Alarms sounded and the tank began to drain. Ripping the mask away he gulped a lungful of sterile air, before tearing wildly at the healing tank, at his restraints, at the intravenous drips that pierced his skin. Peripherally he was aware of the medical staff as they scrambled into a frenzied panic, but he didn’t care about them. He had to get  _ out _. _

_ His fist punched straight through the reinforced glass of the pod and the subsequent ki blast shattered it, showering the hapless medical staff with shards of reinforced glass. _

_ He staggered out of the destroyed pod and tried to find his feet, but something was wrong with him. He managed a handful of steps before stumbling again. The room swayed wildly, he couldn’t get his balance, and when he flung his arm out to steady himself on a nearby counter he missed it by several inches and fell messily. _

_ “Prince Vegeta, please! Be calm, your highness!” _

_ He didn’t heed the voice, but instead lurched to his feet and tried again to stride, but collapsed against a counter when he was unable to hold himself upright. _

_ “What,” he snarled, “have you done to me?!” _

_ “Everything will be clear, your highness.” A brave healer, shaking in fear and bleeding from Vegeta’s shrapnel, stepped into his vision. Even stark naked and covered in green fluid, Vegeta was still terrifying. “Please, please just sit down a moment.” _

_ Vegeta growled in response but didn’t have a choice as his naked body slid down the smooth counter and onto the floor. Then he had a sudden realisation. _

_ “My tail.” He ran a hand down his back, feeling a fleshy nub where his furry appendage should have been. “What did you bastards do to my tail?!” _

_ “You have to understand, sir, if you were ever to transform into your ape form now you would probably die, we had to do what was safest for you-” _

_ The crocodile leapt out of the way as Vegeta lunged at him. He would have made a second attempt to kill the healer had he not caught his own reflection in the polished metal of the adjacent counter. _

_ It couldn’t be. _

_ The doctor saw the direction of his gaze and knew he’d lost any hope of breaking the news gently. Vegeta was transfixed, staring aghast at his reflection. _

_ “What did you do to me?” His question was plaintive, almost childish. He leaned back on his haunches, abandoning his aggressive posture. His shoulders sagged. _

_ “We did what we had to, your highness, to save your life.” The doctor inched towards Vegeta warily, accepting as he did so a patient’s robe from one of his terrified colleagues. “As for the...additions, that was on Lord Freeza’s orders. Would you care for some clothing?” _

_ Vegeta nodded dumbly and did not resist as the robe was placed over his shoulders. _

_ “Will you not return to the healing tank, your highness? Or, well, any healing tank. Your recovery is not yet complete.” _

_ “That explains the pain then.” He murmured, gingerly touching his ruined face with one hand. _

_ The doctor hesitated. “To some extent. But until your body is healed and the implant accepted there is no way to tell how much residual discomfort there will be…”  _

_ Vegeta was suddenly on his feet, but swaying dangerously. _

_ “Please, your highness. You will need to grow accustomed to balancing without your tail. Also your body has been weakened from extended time in stasis and repair, we must complete your recuperation.” _

_ He allowed himself to be gently supported by the doctor and the braver of his colleagues towards an intact healing pod. As he backed himself into it he surveyed the chaos of his outburst; broken glass and instruments littered the place, but he felt no emotion. Only pain. The pain had never wavered throughout the ordeal. _

_ Liquid agar pooled around his feet as the doctors fastened the breathing tube to his face. He saw the second healer begin to load the machine with anesthetic but he shook his head at the creature in warning. He would not allow his body to be further defiled while he slept on oblivious. His pain was not absolute, it would not rule him, he would endure as he had always endured. _

 

* * *

 

She didn’t realise she’d been holding her breath. She exhaled sharply and stood, taking a turn around the room to try to clear her head of what she’d just witnessed. She’d read his extensive file of course, he’d been easy to find from just his given name, but none of the written details had prepared her for the archive footage.

The earliest iteration of his built-in scouter was by far the ugliest thing she’d ever seen. Surrounded by angry red flesh and half healed wounds, it made the current version look sleek and understated by comparison. 

She couldn’t decide what disturbed her more: seeing him claw his way out of the healing tank or the audio of his muted screaming while he was still inside it. 

The graphic nudity hadn’t helped. It emphasized a vulnerability that she didn’t realize he had. She tried to imagine what that must feel like, to wake up in pain, missing a limb and half blind but not knowing why. She couldn’t.

She fervently wished she’d only read his medical files, but she hadn’t. Her interest had been piqued by his file cover, specifically a line not far from the top that listed his origin as  _ non-extant _ . Intrigued, she pursued the thread. If she hadn’t she might not now be experiencing the cognitive dissonance of nursing compassion for a man she still knew she hated.

He was a child when he lost his family and his planet. His loss had been sudden and irrevocable.

Bulma bit her lip. However powerless and dejected she felt under Freeza’s subjugation she still clung to the small hope that one day she would be allowed to return home to the bosom of her family. How would it be if she worked tirelessly day after day without even that tiny scrap of hope to sustain her? To know there was nothing in her future that she could reasonably call her own? It was intolerable.

She returned to the terminal and began to retrace her digital steps, hiding all evidence of her activities. She logged out and switched off the terminal, going as far as wiping her fingerprints from the keys in a sudden bout of paranoia. She’d missed lunch by a country mile but if she was quick she’d make it in time for the evening meal.

With that in mind she hurried of the lab and down the corridor towards the canteen. She’d never been to the R&D department this late in the evening and found the lack of activity eerie. She was almost relieved when two soldiers happened to turn the corner ahead of her. At least they were evidence of life.

She paid them no attention, as she had learnt from the other women she was housed with, and moved to pass them, but they slowed their pace as she approached and stopped to block her path. Bulma flooded with panic.

“Excuse me.” She held her hands close to her sides, so the soldiers wouldn’t see them shaking from sudden adrenaline.

“You’re not excused.” The one nearest grinned at her. He stepped directly in front of her and leaned leisurely on the wall. “I wanna know where a pretty thing like you is off to at this time of the evening?”

“Canteen.” She responded curtly.

“A bit late isn’t it?” His friend enquired, standing on her open side and blocking all paths forward.

“I was working. I lost track of time.”

The soldier leaning on the wall laughed gently. “Yeah, sounds likely.” He reached his free hand forward and pulled one of Bulma’s blue locks in his thumb and forefinger, addressing his friend. “Interesting colour. You don’t get many smooth-skins with colouring like this, do you?”

Bulma was terrified. She didn’t know whether to fight, or to scream for help. But even if someone heard her she doubted they’d come to her aid. She tried to pat her pockets surreptitiously, looking for something she could hold in her fist to do more damage if she had to punch one of them. But the decision was made for her.

The one stood to the side gripped her upper arm and forced her against the wall, and the other, all pretence of sneering charm gone, started to unbutton her tunic.

She screamed incoherently, and struggled furiously, but vainly. The one who had done the talking slapped her with cold irritation and commanded her to be silent, but she continued to fight in spite of the stinging pain. Whatever happened next, and she knew she couldn’t stop it, she refused to let it be her fault. She scratched, bit and tried to push away his hands, even as hot tears of helpless panic streamed down her cheeks. These men were about to rape her and there was nothing she could do about it.

The one who held her against the wall let go suddenly and darted back in alarm. She didn’t understand and was equally shocked when he collapsed to the floor with a smoking hole in his chest. 

Her brain caught up and she wrenched her gaze from her attacker towards the source of what she realised had been a ki blast. Prince Captain Vegeta stood there, arm outstretched towards his victim.

The other man abandoned Bulma and dashed to his friend’s aid, his confusion and shock apparent. “He’s dead! Why? Why did you kill him?”

Vegeta took a moment to respond, glancing first at the fallen man. “He is not dead. He will be very shortly however, if he does not receive medical care. As for the why…” Vegeta strode forward and gripped the second man by the throat and, with calmness that made his violence even more unnerving, slammed the soldier against the same wall Bulma had moments ago vacated. “This scientist is under protected status. This entire department is my responsibility and I will not tolerate anything that I perceive to have a negative effect on its performance.” He released the man who slid, choking, to the corridor floor.

“You will take your fellow soldier to the medical bay and leave him there. You will then return to the soldiers’ mess and inform every one of your peers that anyone who in any way impacts the efficacy of my research assets will answer directly to me. Do you understand?” The soldier, judging more from context than his understanding of Vegeta’s words, nodded dumbly. “Good. Now get out of my sight.”

He scrambled to follow orders, scooping up his comrade as gently as he could and rushing back in the other direction towards the hospital. Vegeta watched them in silence as they disappeared around a corner.

“Are you harmed, Earthling?” He asked offhandedly, after nearly a minute of silence. His address startled Bulma, who was trying to decide what he meant by  _ harmed _ .

“Human, I asked you a question. Do you require medical attention?” He repeated more clearly. He still hadn’t turned to look at her.

“No.” She replied, folding her arms tightly over her unbuttoned tunic.

Vegeta lifted his gloved fingers to his scouter. She noticed the the glove was torn at the knuckle, and also that his armour was not as pristine as usual. She wondered if he’d been fighting already today.

“Do not travel alone outside normal work hours in future. Do you understand?”

She grunted assent, fresh tears of humiliation prickling her eyes.

“You should return to your domicile now. You will pass a medical lab on your way. Ask them for an ice pack.”

She raised a hand to her cheek. It was hot and painful to the touch. She murmured that she would and he acknowledged her with a simple nod. Then he just left, continuing his route through the complex like nothing had happened.

As soon as he was out of sight fear seized her again. Disregarding her previous standard of dignity she hurried down the corridor towards the medical lab.

 

* * *

 

Vegeta frowned as he made his way to the officers’ mess. He’d struck the soldier far too hard, much harder than he’d meant to. His intent was not to kill but it was the likely result. Unless he’d been flung into a healing pod directly that soldier would not recover and he would hear about it the next day from his squadron’s commander. As cheap as lives were under Freeza’s rule no commander, captain or director liked to be a body down by any means other than their own.

His exercise that afternoon had got his blood pumping, he rationalized, and that was why he’d failed to properly measure his attack. He’d exterminated a succession of improperly formed Saibamen not long before and had momentarily forgotten how flimsy the common Freeza soldier truly was.

He’d never understood the carnality of the foot soldiers. He’d been in the soldiers’ mess enough to know that for a paltry number of credits any willing whore could be purchased. There wasn’t much else to spend credits on, being as they were a mockery of wages doled out to maintain control over the slave populace, so why the attempt on an unwilling participant? He didn’t understand the desire to simulate reproduction in the first place, having long since outgrown what Nappa had called his “heat season”. It was a mystery to him.

What he did know from the advice of the overseers was that slaves who could hardly walk or cease crying were not productive, so he’d resolved that such goings-on would not be permitted under his direction.

He ate as usual in the officers’ mess, paying heed only to the display of information that he’d brought with him to peruse. He did not show any signs that he noticed the heads turning to look at him as a rumour spread slowly from table to table. Upon completion of his nutritional necessity he left as nonchalantly as he’d arrived.

Soldiers he passed on his way to his rooms stood even straighter than usual, giving him an obvious wide berth. He wanted to roll his good eye but resisted; he’d ordered the soldier to communicate his encounter but it had only been an hour or two, did soldiers have nothing better to do than gossip?

There was one thing he hadn’t expected to notice, and that was how hard the weakling human had fought. Despite being thoroughly outmatched by her attackers she had resisted like a wildcat with tooth and nail. He respected that on some level, that drive to resist, to fight and survive. No Saiyan woman would ever submit to a man she didn’t respect.

He paused momentarily in his nightly ablutions. Saiyan woman, where had that comparison come from? It was true, from the moment they’d met he had seen the spirit of a fighter trapped in the body of a weakling, first picking fights with his soldiers and then with him. Even when he made deliberate displays of his strength to cow her she hadn’t held her tongue, amusing his crew endlessly with her apparent death-wish. Why did he find that admirable even as he sought to quash it? And if he did manage to quell her, to make her meek and obedient like she needed to be, why did he feel a small sense of loss at that eventuality?

Suppose he hadn’t been walking the corridor that evening, his traitorous brain asked, what then? If he hadn’t broken up the attack what would her fighting have gained her besides further injury?

He dismissed the thoughts impatiently; it didn’t matter anyway. After this evening’s display there wasn’t a soldier on the planet who would dare lay a finger on any scientist under Vegeta’s direction. She could be as gobby as she liked from here on out. 

 

* * *

 

Bulma had wanted to be alone. Her conflicting feelings of shame, fury and fear were raging within her and she didn’t want companionship of any description. At least she hadn’t thought so. When she made it to her room, an ice pack pressed firmly to her face but determined to act as normal, her roommates had converged on her in a paroxysm of concern.

“Where have you been?”

“What happened to your face?”

“Why did you leave so early this morning?”

“You weren’t at lunch or dinner!”

“Oh my gosh have you been crying? What happened?”

“No but seriously, what happened to your  _ face _ ?”

She was overwhelmed by their comradery, and between hunger, adrenaline and a sudden fatigue she realised that her intended pretence was an impossibility. She’d barely formed the words ‘I’m fine’ before her flood barriers broke and she stumbled to her bed with her face in her shaking hands, unable to speak through the uncontrollable sobbing.

Her roommates, though not strictly speaking exactly female, were an approximation of female company and certainly behaved as such. They crowded around her, supporting her, fetching her drying cloths and disposable tissue from the bathroom and searching their belongings for stashed bits of food to ease her hunger. One bright spark uncorked a bottle of weak liquor and poured a measure into a plastic cup, while another made Bulma drink some water. When she finally had herself under control she proceeded to answer their questions, stuttering over the occasional sob or hiccup.

She lied about the lab, claimed she was catching up on some work, but everything else spilled forth in a relieved jumble of communication. From Tomlin’s ill-judged pass at her, to the attack in the hall, to her unlikely rescue, it all came tumbling out and she felt the relief of communication.

The sexless member of their party, the quickest and least likely to be attacked, had run out and returned with a fresh ice pack for Bulma’s bruised face. Bulma took it gratefully and pressed it to her eye.

Bulma had expected her surrogate companions to chide her, to tell her exactly what she’d done wrong to cause this to happen. Instead she found herself admitted to a new level of confidence that she hadn’t known existed before. There were reasons they’d advised her to ignore the soldiers. There were reasons they remained a party when traversing the corridors. She felt both grateful to not be alone and yet a curious shame that she hadn’t known any of this before; Bulma’s encounter with the soldiers was unique among them only in that she had been rescued.

And that was the point they kept coming back to: her rescue. Despite the gravity of the subject she was growing faintly annoyed with the enquiries about her unlikely saviour. They wanted to know every particular, from his minutest facial expression to his exact phrasing, they weren’t satisfied until they had built a complete reconstruction of his participation. They all seemed completely taken aback that he had set such a public example and pressed her for more information, despite her increasingly irate insistence that she’d told all.

And she had told all. It was clear the girls suspected ulterior motives but if they could have seen his manner when talking to her, like she was barely even a person to him, they could not deceive themselves. He knew her name - he was her abductor after all - but he still called her “woman”. He’d saved her from a violent and possibly fatal encounter and then dismissed her as casually as he might any servant. She was confused; there was gratitude in her for what he had done but she resented so thoroughly his treating her so distantly. And yet she couldn’t say  _ why _ she resented it, for he was certainly nothing to her and she had no claim to be something to him.

She suddenly felt incredibly weary and expressed as much to her roommates. Declarations about the time and how they all could have stayed up so late on a work night were made and the night time rituals quickly performed before they settled down for what was, for Bulma at least, a turbulent night’s rest.

 

* * *

 

Ala watched Bulma intently all the next morning. She was subtle enough that she raised awareness in only her subject, and after a period of examining Bulma’s forethoughts and recent musings she made her decision.

_ Bulma _ .

The Earthling raised her head and was about to answer when something of realization dawned on her quite pretty face.

_ Indeed. You are every bit as intelligent as I thought. _

Ala had always been familiar with her people’s preferred method of communication and so only comprehended the weirdness of the sensation through the minds she had touched. She touched Bulma’s now with a reassuring gentleness and in return received the sense of Bulma’s very strong feelings: surprise, shock, awareness all filtered through Bulma to Ala in quick succession followed by a stomach dropping sense of horrified realization and trepidation. She saw flashes of imagery of everything Bulma had done the previous evening, and a smile twitched at the corner of her mouth at the expletives that tumbled chaotically from Bulma’s internal monologue. It was useful that Bulma’s race relied so heavily on language to think and communicate, even though it hampered their ability to engage in abstract thought. Her thoughts were perfectly arranged for Ala to read as if from a page in a book.

_ You are anxious. You hear my voice in your mind and fear that I am privy to your thoughts. You are partially correct; I do know what you’re thinking. _

Bulma’s response was disordered, but the general meaning shone through.

_ Yes, I know everything that happened. You’ve been thinking about it so intently and paying scant attention to your work as a result, but I cannot blame you on this occasion.  _ Ala paused a moment and with her next communication she sent a deliberate wave of compassion.  _ I am truly sorry for what happened to you. I ought not to have let you stay here so late. _

Ala could feel Bulma trying to order her thoughts into a coherent response. The woman was smart but this new method of communication was not natural to her.

_ You need to think the words you want to say, and imagine speaking them with your voice. Here ...let me help you. _

 

* * *

 

 

Bulma had gone completely rigid. Her fingers were frozen in place over her keyboard as Ala’s voice, rich and clear, resonated in her head. When Ala spoke her voice always had a distant quality, like it was somehow coming from a long way away, but now she was inside her head the full effect of her chocolatey alto was immense. And it wasn’t merely words, every message that she received had an emotional accompaniment, almost like background music. She felt Ala’s empathy; it was within herself, but not  _ of  _ herself.

She tried to focus her own words but the effort was totally alien, not aided by her panic at having her inner thoughts laid bare. More urgently, she couldn’t help but think, how long had Ala been picking her brains? Did she know about her hacking misadventure?

_ Of course, girl. How do you think you managed to get so “lucky” with a security system you ought to have no knowledge of? I laid the seeds of thoughts in your mind that showed you the way. But I can’t simply read your mind.  _ Ala responded to this fear with a wave of comforting feeling, like a kindly arm being placed on her shoulder.  _ I can sift through the thoughts and memories that are foremost in your consciousness, and where a mind is open and willing I can sometimes delve further. Do not be concerned, I have seen the thoughts of too many people who think their feelings private to be offended by any indiscretion on your part. _

This brought forward a new series of horrified reflections. Her mind’s eye now unhelpfully replayed every moment Bulma had ever had a negative thought directly about her overseer. And her memory embellished. She then felt a powerful urge to laugh and realised it emanated from Ala.

Bulma had never heard Ala laugh. It was disconcerting to know that it was her insubordination that actually tipped her towards it.

_ The others will soon be leaving for their midday sustenance. Please wait behind. I would like to speak to you candidly. _

And like that Ala’s presence was gone. Bulma felt temporarily bereft. It was only for a moment, but for that moment she felt a loneliness that went beyond anything she’d ever felt. She wondered if Ala, with none of her own kind to interact with, felt that all of the time. Ala herself had drifted silently away to correct the work of a colleague and Bulma did not try to catch her attention again.

 

* * *

 

In the Wardroom Zarbon held court. He lounged at his ease, his graceful figure draped over a chaise with a glass of purple wine in his raised hand. He swirled the contents of the glass, consciously mimicking the gesture of his overlord. Subtlety was lost on these plebs, he thought as his well-lashed, handsome eyes scanned the room.

An unseen servant topped up his glass. He sipped it. As expected it was very fine, reflective of the recommendations he made that determined what was stocked in the Wardroom. He sighed and stretched, moving to an upright position. He was so  _ bored _ .

High ranking officers in varying states of inebriation gossiped like old women about everything and nothing on all sides of him. His burden was to attend to their prattle, in case any nugget of pertinent information should drop from the mouth of one of these feckless toadies. It would not be the first time.

These fools thought nothing of the rich appointment of this room, in fact he had no doubt that they saw it as a just reward for their obvious superiority. Zarbon, while consulting his own feelings in matters of taste, saw it very differently. The Wardroom was more than just a place for Freeza’s elite to mingle and drink, it was Zarbon’s finest sleuth. Oh he had spies, informants and all the usual trappings of an intelligence organization, but in his experience none of those tools came even close in efficacy to the application of free-flowing wine and a comfortable room on competitive boasters. How many pieces of trash had he discovered and done away with just by listening to their sozzled ramblings in this room?

“Don’t get me wrong, I’d feel the same way were it any of  _ my _ men,” said one bloated creature expansively, “but I don’t know what he expects to achieve.”

“I agree, Cui is even further from the top of the list than  _ he _ is.”

“Well maybe he hopes to change that.” Snorted a captain to Zarbon’s right, a slightly sharper individual. “The Monkey Prince has been sat in a captain’s chair while Cui has been on active duty. He might have a chance in the arena.”

Zarbon pictured the death throes of his old partner Dodoria and smiled to himself grimly. Cui had challenged Prince-Captain Vegeta to an arena match and the stupid fish didn’t stand a chance in hell.

“But really, I don’t know what he was thinking, attacking that soldier.” Continued the shrewd captain. “He hasn’t behaved like that on planet for ...well, for how many orbits has he been a captain now, Zarbon?”

Zarbon narrowed his eyes in thought; it was a valid point. The Vegeta he remembered as a soldier had been brash, prone to outbursts and acts of violence so often that his peers and inferiors trembled as he passed. The Vegeta he was now familiar with was completely at odds with that former incarnation, eschewing fire for ice. The Saiyan prince was like a river that had once boiled and burst its banks but was now frozen over. Zarbon wondered idly how far below the surface Vegeta’s affected indifference really went. 

“The soldiers think he wanted that captive for himself, you know.” Assuming his question was ignored the captain had continued the discourse. 

“Is that so?” Zarbon asked with unfeigned surprise.

“Apparently. So the men seem to believe.” To judge by his tone he was clearly unconvinced by the report, as were his peers.

Zarbon leaned back on his chaise. True or not this rumour was in interesting proposition. Taunting Vegeta had long since lost its entertainment value as his barbs became less and less effective. He reaped no enjoyment from Vegeta’s robotic acceptance and had long since discarded any active interest in pursuing him, his duties as Freeza’s senior commander notwithstanding of course. He put about as much stock in the rumour as his fellow officers, but it was the first report of carnality that had ever been ascribed to the prince outside of the battlefield. Even if it was without foundation he might make something of it.

He smiled to himself. Perhaps he would schedule an inspection.

* * *

 

 

Bulma was drowning in memories. If the first gentle brush of Ala’s awareness that had touched her mind had been a trickle then this new experience was a torrent. The door had barely closed on the last possible onlooker before Ala touched the back of Bulma’s hand and gently advised her to sit down. Then she’d opened the floodgates that separated their minds.

Ala had dispensed with language to do this, and Bulma saw and felt everything as she did, saw Ala’s world, her people and her true goals. She saw Freeza’s operation as a huge, parasitic organism spreading out across the galaxy, spanning more star systems than she could conceive, and spread finely throughout it was gossamer net of resistance. Every base, every ship, every planet and colony, every enemy and ally had at least one brave soul toiling within it to support her cause. There was a Resistance, and furthermore, she was now a part of it.

Indeed she had very little choice, for with the surprising warmth of emotion that swept over her she sensed that she already knew too much to be allowed to walk away.

Ala pulled away and Bulma slumped against the desk, gasping for air. She didn’t realise she’d been holding her breath, though it explained the sensation of drowning. Ala’s soft hand touched her back, gently rubbing between her shoulderblades as she tried to regain herself.

“I apologise.” She spoke gently, barely a whisper. “That was too much too soon. I did not adequately prepare you.”

“No,” Bulma protested breathlessly, “please, it’s fine. Just ...just a shock, is all.”

Ala withdrew her hand solemnly and took a seat next to Bulma, who sat a little straighter to meet Ala’s gaze.

“So Bulma, how do you feel?”

Bulma grinned at her in spite of her shaken state. “Like you don’t already know?”

“I see much,” she admitted, “but when one needs to find the right words to verbalise their thoughts doing so puts those thoughts in order, and makes one’s fore-mind clearer to read.”

“I see.” She replied, not entirely certain that she actually did. “It’s all a bit much to take in. How haven’t you been-”

Ala shushed her with a quick shake of her head. She glanced up self-consciously at the monitor strips that lined the walls.

_ Do not fret.  _ Ala’s voice brought with it an accompanying note of comfort. _ Come now, we must join the others so as not to arouse suspicion. I needn’t stress the importance of keeping this information to yourself. _

Bulma pictured briefly in her mind what would happen to her and Ala if she were discovered to be, however recently, part of a rebel sect. She shuddered and Ala nodded solemnly to assure her that she had shared her brief vision.

_ Tread carefully, Bulma. Trust only me. _

As if Bulma had a choice. Simply knowing about Ala’s connection linked her inextricably, making her involvement with the Resistance as consensual as her enslavement on Planet Cold. How little, she thought ruefully, had she appreciated her agency on Earth when she'd possessed it.


	6. Persuasion

_ Dodoria lay at his feet, or at least parts of him did. Vegeta was more than just surprised at his victory, he was disappointed. Dimly he considered his many orbits in space, his early reckless behaviour and countless trips to the healing pods before he was made a commander. He had forged his strength in blood and fire, his Saiyan genetics building his body newer and stronger with every battle and yet he hadn’t considered his own power. There was a time when he had considered nothing else. _

_ His eyes lifted to the crowd. Every one of them disgusted him. If they were so hungry for blood they should enter the Arena themselves rather than screaming encouragement at the contestants in the ring. To Vegeta this violence was almost a ritual and the dispatching of an enemy, even a bastard like Dodoria, should be enacted with more dignity than they displayed. He lingered on the face of his old antagonist Zarbon, whose eyes he noticed were widened in distress. Ah yes, Dodoria was his friend. Zarbon’s master had just ordered the death of his closest ally and Vegeta had the honour of performing the execution right in front of him.  _

_ He didn’t enjoy it, and he didn’t understand why not. _

_ Had he not always despised Freeza’s lackeys? Why then was he not overflowing with the heady pleasure of victory? Oh he knew some superficial satisfaction, some surface level of feeling he could almost call jubilation, but he knew that in his core he was unmoved. He felt total dispassion towards the life he had just extinguished where his rational mind told him he should be proud. _

_ Proud of what? Proud of defeating an opponent demonstrably weaker than he? _

_ Truth be told, although his veins flowed with the blood of warriors it ran cold. His Saiyan heritage was becoming more and more distant with every passing day. He no longer knew what he was. _

_ “Good work, my prince.” Freeza had finally deigned to speak, his reedy voice silencing the crowd immediately. He did not rise but leaned back on his throne-like seat high above the arena, his chin resting on his fist. “An entertaining display for all, I’m sure we all agree you are deserving of some reward, no? Allow me to be the first to congratulate you on your promotion,  _ Captain _ Vegeta.” _

_ “Thank you, my lord.” Vegeta responded robotically. If he had any emotional response to Freeza’s announcement it was not apparent. _

_ They waited for a brief handful of seconds, each watching the other carefully to see who would move next. Freeza never being a man of patience waved a lazy hand at the warrior before him. _

_ “You are dismissed, Captain.” _

_ Vegeta nodded stiffly and turned neatly on his heel, the noise of the crowd fading behind him as he strode from the Arena. He kept his chin high like his father had taught him and didn’t look back. _

 

* * *

 

 

“Girl, get a move on.” Urged her one of Bulma’s fellow breakfasters. “You’re gonna miss the fight.”

“I never said I  _ wanted _ to see the fight.” She replied tersely. To her annoyance this elicited some giggling.

“We all know you want to watch your white knight defending your honour in the Arena.” They responded.

It had been days since her encounter with the soldiers - at least two Earth weeks according to the timer she’d set up on her terminal - and once the initial shock had passed her colleagues had found a new sort of entertainment in teasing her about it. Not the attack itself, that was very much out of bounds, but about her unlikely protector. Over the last couple of weeks at every opportunity she was made to endure all manner of witticisms regarding his heroic aspect and her supposed infatuation. Her feelings had admittedly softened since her rescue but they’d only mellowed from out-right dislike to something closer to pity. Her experience in going through his file was instrumental to this change, catalyzed by the events that followed, but since then she’d seen so little of him that she was struggling to reconcile her feelings about him. He’d been in and out of their lab in the days since, speaking only to Ala, doing whatever it was a director did. He’d nodded at her once, just a tiny jerk of the head, to acknowledge her and that was it. It was like he didn’t remember saving her life.

She hadn’t helped herself, she had to admit. For one thing she’d started to sketch blueprints in her spare time of conceptual improvements to his hideous cybernetic scouter, which in her carelessness she had failed to adequately conceal, and furthermore her vehement objections had only made the sport more amusing to her comrades. If she hadn’t indulged in that intellectual exercise she might not now, a fortnight on, still be fielding their ludicrous jests. Ala, too, she’d noticed seemed to disapprove of her side-project, though she didn’t give any overt indication of it in her interactions with Bulma.

Ala hadn’t been idle. Almost as soon as she had been accosted Bulma found herself inducted and put to work. Her instructions from Ala were given telepathically during work hours and were always precise, but Bulma was never allowed to know what the end goal entailed. All she knew was that the work passing through her desk was no longer anything to do with Capsule technology. She could make deductions though and she was certain that whatever she was doing involved introducing bits of tech to somewhere they ought not to be. She’d never so much as seen another member of this resistance, she had only Ala’s assurance that they even existed. But that assurance, that seemed so warm and reliable when Ala was near, faded as soon as she left her. She knew her mind was visible, but Ala kept her own thoughts shrouded. She didn’t feel trust from the person requesting her own trust so implicitly.

Reluctantly she rose from the table. Despite the appearance she meant to give she had no intention of missing this fight. Not that she was looking forward to it, but she felt responsible for it. Besides which the challenger, a commander Cui, had lodged his challenge in the non-lethal category, which her co-workers told her was the reason they had to wait so long; blood fights were given precedence as they required no judges. The tournaments she’d enjoyed in her youth came to mind, particularly cheering on Yamcha at the height of their romance as he fought in the World Martial Art Tournament. She smiled jerkily at that memory. She had still been neglecting him in her thoughts and felt guilty for it, but now she relived the memory of his Wolf Fang Fist as she followed her companions to the arena.

There were a lot of workers on their rest day from all departments heading that way, so much so that queues to the arena had to be formed. The crowd was organized however and they were soon enough herded to seating around the raised dais.

Bulma was sat near the front row, between the pink reptilian assistant and her sexless roommate. A few seats along Tomlin had sat down gracelessly, leaning forward to try to catch Bulma’s eye. He’d avoided her for the first week or so after she’d ejected him from her room, not even speaking to her in the lab, but he had since attempted reconciliation in ways that put her so in mind of a guilty dog that she was finding her fury with him abating. Not that he was forgiven by any stretch, but she met his sheepish gaze and, though she neither smiled nor gave any overtly friendly indicator, she didn’t actively repulse him. Satisfied at least with her lack of open hostility he gave her his dumbest smile and sat back properly on the bench.

They were made to wait some time and the crowd chattered restlessly. Bulma tried to immerse herself in the gossip happening around her, wanting to be distracted from the anxious clenching in her belly, but she couldn’t focus, her eyes continually drifting to the arena entrances. There was no reason she could think of for being nervous, and yet she drummed her fingers on her knee in rhythm with her foot tapping on the stone floor.

There was a sudden hush over the crowd and Bulma, thinking the contestants had arrived, craned her neck left and right to spot them. Her roommate gave her a nudge, shaking her head. At Bulma’s quizzical expression she pointed at the raised viewing platform that faced the horseshoe of the seating area. Freeza and his entourage had arrived.

Bulma couldn’t help but stare. She’d never seen him before and didn’t expect such a small figure. He stood barely four foot high, including his horns, and even at a distance she could see his blood red eyes and strange, purple lips. He dissonantly exhibited both amusement and boredom in his countenance as he languidly made his way up the steps to his viewing platform, his toadies following warily.

She’d been staring so intently at Freeza that the arrival of Captain Vegeta and Commander Cui took her completely unawares, and she was not prepared for the jolt she felt in her stomach upon seeing the Saiyan enter the arena.

He had dispensed with his customary half cape, his apparel tight fitting around his compact frame and tailored entirely for function. Cui, on the other hand, had dressed to express his rank and had a short mossy green cape fluttering to his midriff that clashed with his purple skin. Bulma caught herself thinking that despite his personal defects Vegeta would have worn the cape better.

She couldn’t fathom Vegeta’s expression. Commander Cui was strutting about and sneering at the Captain with his over-ripe fish lips and the crowds began to chant incoherent noise at them but his stoicism was resolute in the face of it all, baffling her exceedingly. This was hardly his daily grind, after all.

“Think it’ll be another kill?” Hissed the lizard girl excitedly.

“It’s a non-lethal bout, you know that.” Bulma replied.

Her compatriate merely laughed. “Yeah, tell that to Dodoria.”

Bulma was about to question her when the amplified voice of Zarbon echoed throughout the arena.

“Prince-Captain Vegeta, you are hereby challenged to non-lethal combat by Commander Cui for the insult of terminating one of the men under his command. Do you accept this challenge?” Zarbon drawled, towering over the arena at Freeza’s right. Bulma found herself staring once again, despite knowing him by reputation. Hard to believe, she thought, that so much evil could be contained in so much beauty.

“I accept.” Vegeta shouted calmly from his position far below them.

“Very well. This match will continue until one or both contestant are unconscious, plead mercy or in any other way become incapacitated.” Zarbon continued. “The time limit for this match is a maximum of one hour. Should both participants be standing at the end of this hour then our Lord Freeza will declare a winner. No weapons are permitted but any other method of physical combat is sanctioned. You may begin!”

Nothing happened. The stadium seemed to be holding its breath, as was Bulma, and still they didn’t move. Then, after what seemed an age, Vegeta slowly began to crouch into what she later would recognise as his signature fighting stance.

That seemed to be the signal Cui was waiting for. Like a flash of lightning he darted across the arena, heading directly for the Prince. The first impact was over before she realised, and Cui lurched away from it looking livid.

Vegeta was now in the centre of the arena, holding at shoulder height the majority of Cui’s cape, torn wholesale from his armour. He opened his fist and let it flutter to the ground dispassionately. His contempt for his opponent couldn’t be clearer. 

With an audible growl Cui flung himself at Vegeta again, and this time he was not turned aside. They danced in a flurry of fists, Cui on the overt offensive with Vegeta putting up an icy defense. Bulma was no longer holding her breath, on the contrary she was breathing hard and fast at every blow. They moved too fast for Bulma to follow with her eyes, but she could sort of  _ feel _ the fight as it occurred. She wasn’t aware of her fellow spectators, the battle before her encompassed all.

Cui was fast but he lacked the strength to follow through. Blows that might have caused real damage were parried and deflected, but though not a single one hit its mark they came so fast and at such a frequency that Vegeta didn’t have space to launch a counter without opening his own defences. And yet, it seemed to Bulma that Cui was the only participant making an effort. Vegeta dodged with a cool efficiency that contrasted Cui’s fierceness completely. He seemed, if not bored, than at least not engaged by the fight.

Then it happened; there was a peal of laughter from the high platform, Freeza’s laughter, and Vegeta was momentarily distracted by the sound. Cui saw his opening.

The crowd, which up to now had been an incoherent mess of indiscriminate encouragement and abuse, screamed its approval as Cui’s fist slammed into Vegeta’s scouter with an audible crunch. Vegeta staggered backwards, and stumbled.

 

* * *

 

The air from each missed blow was hot on Vegeta’s face, from the friction caused by the speed at which they were thrown. Vegeta had expected this. Though not overly concerned about his chances he’d still done his research and anticipated Cui’s increase in skill and speed, allowing for the disadvantage in his lack of depth perception. What he had failed to factor into his research was Cui’s focus; while he kept up a rhythm of strikes that necessitated a widely spread defense, every second or third attempt focused on his face. It wasn’t hard to ascertain that Cui knew his prosthetic was his most vulnerable area and was attempting to draw off his defence in order to land a strategic blow there. As such Vegeta was avoiding offensive manoeuvres in favour of maintaining a solid defense. Despite Cui’s enhanced speed and unexpected cunning they both knew he couldn’t stand up to a real blow at this level, so Vegeta resolved to wait for the opportunity to land that one, game-ending punch. 

Cui feinted a number of times, trying to tempt Vegeta into dropping his guard, but he hadn’t survived this long to be so easily tricked now. This was not an exchange of strength but of intellect, one which he was almost beginning to appreciate. A shame, he later reflected, that his instincts once again got in the way of what could have been an exemplary battle of wits.

Freeza’s laugh cut through the noise of the crowd and instinctively his head snapped towards the viewing platform, so hard-wired was he to respond to Freeza’s every utterance. This put his head at an unfortunate angle and Cui was able to smash his fist with full force into his desired target. Vegeta was pushed back by the force of the blow, and as the first wave of pain hit his nervous system his legs nearly failed him. It was all he could do to not cry out.

If he had to describe the worst sensation, he’d have said it was the feeling of the inner components crushing into the back of his eye socket.

Somewhere in the background of his awareness his logical mind deduced there and then that this was not going to be any kind of simple repair. Even the holdings were ruptured if the blood gushing down his left cheek was any indication. He would be in the med lab for days this time as they cut the thing out, and lord knew how long it would take to fit a new one. As it was his logical mind was no longer in the driving seat, and really was to play no further part in the proceedings.

Cui seemed as shocked as anybody that he’d landed the hit, and made his first and last mistake by not following through with a finisher. The moment Vegeta had regained his footing he launched himself at Cui with an inhuman noise of pain and fury, all thought of strategy discarded. He had one object only, to see this little upstart  _ piece of shit  _ bleed his guts out on the arena floor. Whatever tactic either of them had employed up to now was rendered moot as Vegeta released every restraint on his immense strength.

The crowd screamed and cheered as he pounded straight through Cui’s hasty defence and hammered blow after blow into his body. The base of his spine tingled, craving the denied hormones that could grant him the Oozaru transformation his blood screamed for. He pulled back, fists slick with blood, and delivered a furious roundhouse kick that sent Cui flying across the arena. Vegeta intercepted him and catapulted his body into the air with another kick, following it up with a vicious blast of ki energy. It was not clear if Cui was alive when Vegeta caught his limp form with one hand, not until he tightened his grip on Cui’s throat and the crowd watched with sick fascination as he weakly struggled against the asphyxiation

“Enough.”

Freeza’s voice, amplified as Zarbon’s had been, silenced the crowd and cut through the red mist that was Vegeta’s consciousness like an icy dagger. Every fibre of his being demanded blood, demanded he squeeze the life out of his opponent, but Freeza’s voice stayed his hand. He still held Cui, could see his bulging eyes though half-blinded by his own blood, but he did not release him.

“Vegeta, dearest, I said  _ enough. _ ” Freeza’s voice was a familiarly sickly sweet tone, and inwardly Vegeta recoiled as his subconscious vomited a slew of associated memories. “Release him.”

Fighting himself more than he’d ever fought Cui, he forced his fist to open and let Cui slump to the ground. Staring straight ahead, ignoring Cui crumpled at his feet, he lowered his arm and awaited further commands.

Freeza leaned back in his chair, chuckling softly. “That was quite the show, I commend you both. I believe Cui is ready to forfeit the match?”

Vegeta didn’t move but he assumed affirmation from the series of hacking coughs made by Cui.

“Delightful. Well I’m sorry to say that the match is over and this morning’s Arena entertainment quite played out. A hand, please, for our  _ fine _ performers!”

The audience erupted, whooping and screaming intolerably. Vegeta hated the noise, but he stayed glued to the spot, even as he saw Cui being to struggle to his feet with mixed success in his periphery.

“Yes, yes, very good. Now off you go to settle your wagers. And you two,” he directed his indulgent smile at the combatants, “run along and get yourselves patched up, now.”

Without a second look at either Freeza or Cui, Vegeta turned smartly and marched stiffly from the Arena with as much grace as his intense pain would allow.

 

* * *

 

 

Bulma was on her feet before any of her companions and pushing through the sluggish crowds. She left their startled queries behind her as she rushed from the Arena. She had to get to her lab, that was imperative.

Once out of the suffocating mass of bodies her journey was unhampered, it being her department’s rest day. She alternated between a brisk walk and a run, pausing to catch her breath at intervals, until she found the entrance to her lab. It was empty as expected. She smacked the control panel to light the room and made a beeline for her workstation. From among the papers, figures, printouts and various bit of detritus that occupied the space she extracted her sketches. She also fumbled about for the medical reports and old schematics she had sequestered in a drawer and after a brief deliberation unplugged her laptop and external hard drive. She tried to pile it all as neatly as she could in such a hurry and darted out of the lab towards the medical department.

On the way she rehearsed in her head what she would say when she got there.

She passed her bemused roommates in the hall as she half-walked, half-ran to the med-lab. She could only spare them a brief apology over her shoulder as finally, stomach churning with anxiety, she burst into Si’eth’s lab.

She tried not to imagine how she must have appeared to them, as she stood panting, dishevelled and slightly sweaty, in the entrance to their beautifully organised laboratory. Si’eth’s lab was perfectly structured down to the tiniest detail, which never failed to instill self-consciousness in Bulma of her own disorderly approach to work. Even now, despite being primarily a research department not usually required to cater for the freshly wounded, the assistants were preparing with calm efficiency to receive the injured party, the flow of their work shifting to reform around this new object, like a river adjusting to the introduction of a large rock. Most of the assistants looked up at her with mild interest but no-one stopped their work for a moment.

She coughed nervously, her face growing hot as she realised she’d been stood in the doorway staring at the incumbents for several seconds too long.

“Hospital’s confirmed, he’s on his way.” Announced an assistant from the far end of the lab. At this Si’eth emerged from the adjoining room.

“Well we all know how long that gives us. Healer Makky, are we prepared?”

Bulma recognized the old crocodile faced healer who assented. She was most often in the hospital itself rather than research and development, but it seemed Si’eth had thoroughly prepared for this eventuality. He nodded his thanks to Makky and turned suddenly, spotting Bulma and starting with surprise.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, startled into bluntness.

Bulma shifted the equipment in her arms uncomfortably. “I’m here to ...help.”

He looked around at his ample supply of assistants. “I think, uh, I think we’re, well, all set for hands, thank you.”

“No, you don’t understand.” Bulma stepped to the nearest surface and disgorged her load gently onto it. “I was there, at the Arena. I saw what happened to him and I’m telling you Vegeta’s scouter was destroyed. This is our chance!”

“Our what? Sorry, it’s Bulma, right?”

She nodded, cursing herself for speaking so passionately.

“I’m not sure I’m following you.” 

Bulma sighed fiercely and withdrew her sketches from the haphazard pile, thrusting them under his nose. “Look! You were saying you wanted to help him, but you’re not prepared to cut so deeply into an unanesthetized patient? Well now he doesn’t have a choice! When will another opportunity like this come up again?”

Si’eth stared nonplussed at the papers in his hand, and then slowly raised his gaze to meet hers. “How long have you been working on this?” He asked her.

“I dunno, a few days, maybe a week…?” She shrugged, annoyed at what seemed to her a tangential question at best.

“You designed this in a few days?”

“Yes. Now you need to convince his high and mighty to let us implement it-”

“By yourself?” He continued, unable to stop himself. “Without any help from any ...other person?”

“Yes. What is difficult about this?”

“Bulma, these designs ...they’re incredible. How did you know so much about the current functionality of the scouter?”

She froze. Her designs were built on the schematics she’d stolen from the medical database, incorporating and adapting much of that technology. She knew she couldn’t put it down to simple guesswork. The enormity of her blunder robbed her of words momentarily.

“I ...I saw the original blueprints.” She admitted.

“How?”

“The database security is very poor.”

The truth was left hanging in the air between them for a few moments. Eventually he shuffled the papers in his hands and coughed.

“We may talk about that later - not least of all about your  _ motivation  _ to do such a thing.”

She sensed with relief that he was dismissing her clandestine activity and instead choosing to focus on what it had produced. Her sense of relief was only momentary however as the door slid open to admit a commotion.

“Your highness, please listen to me, you  _ must  _ allow us to put you in a healing pod while we prepare surgery for you. This is not a field hospital, I have to insist-”

Bulma turned in time to see Prince Vegeta, covered in his own drying blood, lifting a terrified healer by the neck of his robes as a handful of his fellows looked on with crocodilian jaws agape.

“I will not submit to a healing pod.” He enunciated every word with great care, like they each cost him a great effort. Dropping the hapless doctor and turning on the room, his unbalanced gaze stopped suddenly on Bulma. “What is  _ she _ doing here?”

His appearance was ghastly. The whole left side of his face was just red, varying in shade from the fresh blood that still seeped to the drying blood beneath it. If any attempt had been made to clean the wound it had obviously not gotten very far. He swayed almost imperceptibly but Bulma noticed how he kept his blind side to towards the door frame and discretely supported himself against it.

“Your Highness,” Si’eth intoned carefully, as one would when approaching an injured, dangerous animal. “She has been assisting my lab with some design overhauls for your scouter. I hope you’d agree that now is the time to consider a complete reinstallation?”

“This is not her assigned lab.” He stubbornly pointed out. Bulma wondered how he was still standing with such pain, let alone cross examining their story.

“I used my rest periods.” She cut in succinctly, surmising the truth would be her safest route. “Breaks and days off and while code was compiling, I worked on this.”

She took a tentative step forward, passing her designs as she did so from Si’eth’s hands into Vegeta’s. She had the momentary gratification of seeing his good eye widen. He was impressed, that much was clear.

“It is a significant improvement in design, and once we’ve synthesised the materials described here-”

“And how long would that take?” He snapped. He swayed slightly, this time more obviously. Si’eth opened his mouth to form an answer but had none. He glanced back at Bulma in silent appeal.

“With a little assistance, maybe a couple guys from this lab, I could have this ready within twenty days - uh, cycles, I mean. In the meantime your current scouter would need extracting and a proxy must be installed to keep the cavity from collapsing.” She answered confidently. She was guessing of course, she knew they didn’t really have the cartilage mimicking silicone she’d need for her design. She’d have to dig through the archives she’d managed to salvage from Capsule Corp and try to reverse engineer the stuff from scratch before she even got to building the unit itself, but twenty days with a good team who could follow instructions felt like enough wiggle room.

“And your current duties?” He snarled.

Bulma faltered for a moment. She knew that he had the management of her department and would not take kindly to her deserting it, but she rallied. “Well we’re ahead of schedule and besides, Ala mostly needed me for conversion which is basically done. It won’t affect Capsule R&D if you transferred me temporarily.” She shrugged nonchalantly, trying to give the impression that it made no difference to her either way.

He stared at her for a moment longer than Bulma was comfortable with. Just as she thought all hope to get her invention made was lost he turned his face from her and nodded curtly.

“Fine. Do as you must.” He selected a lab assistant seemingly at random. “You, go fetch overseer F-208-FSA. Tell her that F-735-CCB is to be relocated to this lab on my orders for the foreseeable future.”

Bulma baulked slightly at the use of her personnel ID but didn’t let her offence show beyond a wrinkling of her nose. Not that he’d have noticed, she thought, as he stared off to the opposite end of the lab. You didn’t have to be a doctor to see that he was slowly losing his grip on his composure. If he wasn’t treated soon a public collapse was imminent.

“Now your highness,” Si’eth ventured after a concerned glance from his new ally. “The theatre is prepared for you. We need to operate immediately.”

“Then proceed.” He took a few steps away from the doorframe, and Bulma admired his self-control in maintaining a steady walk. She parted from Si’eth to let him pass and turned to follow him. His hand hovered near the lab surfaces.

“Si’eth, are these gentlemen required for this operation?” She asked, gesturing to the healers milling about the lab entrance, whether to be of service or to be the first to see the proud captain keel over she wasn’t sure. Either way, she was formulating a plan and it wouldn’t do for them to see any weakness on his part. Si’eth shook his head. 

“You can all leave now. Thank you for your escort, I’m sure you’re all missed in your departments.” She smiled at them and they, with varying degrees of reluctance, retreated from the lab entrance, the sliding door hissing shut behind them. She smiled her satisfaction and followed Si’eth to the small operating theatre, wondering as she did what the hell she’d managed to get herself into this time.

 

* * *

 

 

He just needed to make it to the chair. Once there he could consign his miserable body to gravity and focus his remaining strength on staying conscious. The pain was such that he almost no longer recognized it anymore. He fought it constantly, as every tiny movement of his face pulled at the torn flesh and sent waves of dizzying agony for him to contend with. The nausea hadn’t helped, although the desperate walk through the compound had allayed that somewhat.

The healers had followed him almost from the very Arena to Si’eth’s lab. He had bypassed the hospital completely and come straight here, barely tolerating their whining that he needed to return with them to be forced into a healing pod. He knew the scouter needed to come out and quickly, he also knew that a healing pod would only make that job more difficult by creating more scar tissue that would require cutting. No, he had come directly to the only place on-planet that had the skills and personnel to fit his needs but the buzzards had followed him even in here. He was halfway across the lab, taking care to choose a path that always kept him near a surface should his balance fail him, when he heard the Earth woman order the hangers-on out of the lab.

Her tone, confident and authoritative, impressed him, and Vegeta was surprised by the unfamiliar admiration that he could feel through his blinding pain. He was more surprised, even unnerved, by the tiny germ of gratitude her actions provoked.

Somehow he made it to the sanctuary of the theatre and eased himself onto the chair. Better get comfortable, he thought grimly, he wouldn’t be leaving it anytime soon.

“Is a chair going to be appropriate for this?” Vegeta heard the Earth woman whisper to Si’eth. “I mean once he’s under he might slip off.”

“Oh,” he replied uneasily, “His highness doesn’t care for anesthetic.”

There was a pause and Vegeta turned his head slightly to read their expressions. The edges of his vision were growing blurry but he could see the unfeigned horror on the human’s face. Her eyes were wide and, he noticed for the first time, very blue, as blue as the planet he’d taken her from. Her skin was paler than he remembered - probably as a result of being sequestered on this poorly lit planet - which made the flush on her cheeks stand out all the more. What had been a smooth, short hairstyle when he’d acquired her had grown out long enough to be slightly wavy and that too was very blue. Her mouth hung open in apparent shock and he startled himself by noticing that her mouth was particularly expressive, and quite pink. He also noticed that despite the privations of working under Freeza’s yoke she had lost very little by way of body mass, and for a moment - before he strangled the invasive thought completely - he thought he understood what had drawn those two unfortunate soldiers to attack her.

He removed his gaze from her and reminded himself that he had lost a lot of blood that afternoon.

“Then I refuse.” Her voice. Again, full of strength and character, and apparently no understanding of her position. He glanced at her again, this time with disbelief.

“No Si’eth, you heard me.” She was arguing in lowered tones with her new overseer, who it seemed was as flummoxed as anyone. “If you won’t give him pain relief I want no part in this. Are you honestly telling me you’d cut straight into his face without anesthesia?”

“It’s hardly my choice, Bulma,” Si’eth pleaded, “And besides which, you’ve already been reassigned, you can’t refuse.”

“I damn well can!” She’d raised her voice a notch and Vegeta saw again the fighting spirit he’d nearly admired in their previous meetings. Only this time she wasn’t fighting for her own sake, but for his.

He didn’t understand. At all.

“Earth woman.” He growled, his teeth gritted against the pain. “You forget your place.”

“Excuse me?” She turned that full and fiery glare on him and he, in pain as he was, met it squarely. “My designs will be useless if you go into shock and die. Do you think I want my hard work wasted?”

“I hardly think-”

“And besides which,” she continued recklessly, “how long do you expect to be able to maintain consciousness with this one slicing your face open and yanking out that museum piece you call a scouter? Even if you don’t go into shock your body is going to respond to that.”

Her words, reminding him of what he’d been carefully not thinking about up to now, made his stomach turn and all the nausea he’d been fighting returned full fold. He tasted bile in the back of his throat.

“Please, listen to me.” Her tone changed suddenly from one of berating to supplication. “How much of what you do on this planet relies on your reputation? And how do you think that will be affected if word gets out that Captain Vegeta fainted on the operating table? Or puked?  Or collapsed to the floor? Please, I know what extreme pain does to the body, regardless of species.”

He stared at her a moment longer, the truth of her words hitting home. Did she believe in what she said or did she speak these words merely to win her argument? What was her motivation? From her design sketches to this foolhardy debate, he couldn't fathom it out. It didn’t matter, he decided. He knew enough about the technology to be certain that Si’eth needed her, and disgusted as he was with the situation he couldn’t deny she was right. If he embarrassed himself in here it would be known throughout the base within a cycle. He couldn’t allow that.

“You were working on some local anesthesias.” Vegeta muttered, addressing only Si’eth and pointedly ignoring the Earth woman.

“Huh? I, oh I mean - yes! Yes I was.” The young healer stammered.

“I am willing to provide you a ...test subject.” He turned away and closed his good eye as Si’eth scrabbled to retrieve his precious little vials. His awareness of the room was beginning to blur, sounds and sights melting together as his queasiness begat dizziness. He longed for sleep. He would never submit to an unbreakable chemical sleep, but to not feel for a little while and be able to ignore the grossness of strangers’ hands on his skin, that he felt he could perhaps tolerate this one time.

“Bulma, you should wait outside.” Someone said, probably Si’eth. “You won’t be needed for this part.”

He thought he heard the door open and close, though he was sure he imagined being able to see a figure appear in the observation window through his half lidded eye.

Bulma. Her name was Bulma. He’d known it of course, but he’d never thought of her by name before. She was a thing, an asset. 

She still was, he reminded himself. Hands touched his face and he flinched, to his own detriment. He held himself as still as possible as the needle of the first syringe of the afternoon was gently introduced to his flesh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More updates, more frequently. I promise.


	7. Cracks

_ He had never been summoned in this capacity before. Normally if Lord Freeza had a message or an assignment for Vegeta it would be passed along digitally or via a minion. To receive a direct summons to the tyrant’s own throne room did not bode well. All sorts of wild possibilities flew through his mind, mostly ending in execution, but he pushed them aside. He’d been promoted to captain mere hours ago, surely he had not earned his death warrant already? _

_ His match with Dodoria had only been that morning and he’d barely had time to change out of his blood spattered armour and into something respectable before his presence was requested by a trembling lackey. And so he went, through the third and second circles of Freeza’s compound until he strode with an air of confidence that he did not feel into the central circle of Freeza’s palace. He’d been here before as a child on Royal visits with his father and relied on those vague memories rather than ask a servant for directions. He’d never seen it as an adult, he’d never been deemed important enough. _

_ To his relief the throne room itself was where it always had been. The high double doors were closed and guarded by Freeza soldiers. Their armour was higher grade than that of the common soldier, reflective of their position in Freeza’s own household. He stalled before them, unsure of the protocol, and waited with crossed arms. They looked through him, as if he weren’t there. After maybe a minute of this mute stand-off he sighed, stepping forward. _

_ “Inform your master, I have arrived.” He ventured. _

_ “And you are?” One of them looked at him with a slightly raised eyebrow, while the other gave no indication of interest. _

_ “Prince Vegeta.” He growled, feeling his blood heat at the insult. After the first flash the anger felt far away however, like he was feeling it through a filter. It was so often like that now, the strength of rage, disgust and even pleasure was no more than a dull throb. He was impassive to the pull and tide of his own heart. _

_ The soldier sniffed and retreated into the throne room. Vegeta saw nothing of the inside but waited without in the company of the remaining guard who seemed determined to not acknowledge his existence. Soldiers in the palace, Vegeta noted, would do well to take instruction from their brothers in the second and third circles who stood to attention as he passed them. _

_ The first soldier had returned and opened the doors. _

_ “Lord Freeza will see you.” He said shortly before returning to his post. _

_ He gave himself but a moment to take a steadying breath before stepping into the throneroom. _

_ Lord Freeza, ruler of the known galaxy and usurper of worlds, lounged idly on his throne with a glass of wine. He was mid-conversation with a subdued and sulky Zarbon to his right. Vegeta thought the tableau was oddly lopsided without Dodoria on Freeza’s left. It was an impressive room. The huge encompassing window behind Freeza showed Vegeta the pitiful sunshine that graced Planet Cold’s midday sky, and the high, vaulted ceilings were ornately engraved as were the pillars that reached up to it. He admired Freeza’s taste and restraint, noting the lack of garity in the furnishings and ornaments. _

_ At what seemed an appropriate distance, Vegeta dropped to his knee with his fist to his chest in the traditional salute. _

_ “My lord, you summoned me?” He declared to the marble floor. _

_ “Hmm?” Freeza turned, as if he hadn’t noticed Vegeta approach, a ridiculous gesture that they both saw through but one he persisted in anyway. “Oh yes, my little prince. I would have a word with you. Do rise, please make yourself comfortable.” _

_ Vegeta stood, and it was some effort to resist the reflex to cross his arms defensively. He observed with his good eye that Zarbon was more than just sulky, he was glaring with open hatred at him. His usually bright, handsome eyes were dulled and rimmed purple, as though he had recently wept. He wondered by how much he’d underestimated the friendship between Zarbon and Dodoria. _

_ “My men inform me that you introduced yourself as Prince Vegeta.” Freeza observed with amusement. “Do you think that your accident of birth to a dead king of a non-existent people supersedes the honour of being made a captain of my elite forces?” _

_ “My apologies.” Vegeta replied calmly, measuring his words carefully. “I will in future defer to the most superior title.” _

_ “I don’t doubt it.” Freeza held his half-full glass out to Zarbon, who took it away to a table at the far end of the dais laden with refreshments and sweetmeats. Zarbon waited there stiffly. _

_ “You fought very well this afternoon.” Freeza continued. “I was very pleased to see your progress. It’s fortunate that we didn’t follow your suggestion to euthanize the boy, wouldn’t you agree Zarbon?” _

_ Vegeta glanced at Zarbon, whose face contorted into a hateful grimace as he muttered his unwilling agreement. _

_ “Quite. If Zarbon had had his way you’d have been put to sleep when you lost that eye, such was his recommendation to the medical department. I’m so glad they took the time to ask my advice before administering Zarbon’s mercy to you.” _

_ Despite the conversational tone, or perhaps because of it, Vegeta was wary. He answered but little and listened attentively as Freeza cycled through topics, all along a theme of Vegeta’s losses or embarrassments. If Freeza expected him to react he would disappoint him. After many minutes of this Freeza took to his three-toed feet and paced closer to Vegeta, still talking. Vegeta kept his gaze squarely on the empty throne. _

_ “It’s such a shame that your father was not able to view your performance today. He would have been so proud, I’m sure, to see you elevated to the rank of captain so publicly.” He had by now paced behind him. _

_ “I’m sure he would.” He agreed when Freeza did not continue. _

_ Vegeta’s eyes never left the focal point he’d given himself just above Freeza’s throne. Even when the lizard padded lightly to where the Saiyan stood, and even when he kicked savagely at the back of Vegeta’s legs so he was forced to kneel, he kept that unreadable, level gaze. _

_ “Look at me when I’m talking to you, monkey!” Freeza hissed. _

 

* * *

 

“Go ahead, bend it.” Bulma offered proudly. “It’s synthetic cartilage, not metal or plastic, so it won’t snap or rupture as easily when external forces are applied. It won’t rust, it won’t warp and while there’s a small chance of it calcifying in places it won’t be rejected by the body outright because it should recognise it as organic.”

Vegeta held the prototype casing in his hands, gently bending and testing the tensile strength of the material. He was impressed, very impressed. In barely a handful of cycles she’d already managed to synthesize this substance and shape it into a mock-up of what his casing should look like. Though far from complete, he had a much clearer picture of what she was trying to achieve, and he approved.

The proxy they’d installed irked him, being nothing more than a false eye made from the same material as most of the armour on planet, hidden under the dressings for his external wounds. He could feel it constantly and the pressure of it had been giving him headaches. It had to be slightly oversized, they told him, to keep the cavity open enough to allow for the new scouter. He had every faith in Si’eth, though he’d never admit it, but he was eager now to have the functionality of his scouter restored.

“Shall I begin your highness?” Si’eth asked from his now much larger blind spot. Vegeta grunted his assent and handed the casing back to the Earth woman. He then lifted his face to Si’eth who began to pick at his dressings.

“Healing very well, sir, as usual you’re ahead of our estimates. It won’t be long before we can go ahead with the operation.” He chimed, clearly very pleased with the whole situation.

“How long?” Vegeta asked before the boy could gush over his healing factor again. Saiyans healed quickly out of necessity, it was no marvel.

“Hmm.” he murmured, turning to Bulma. “How long do you estimate before the first prototype is ready for installation?”

“Well I need to hand this off and take charge of the unit itself, but I think it won’t be more than another, hmm, maybe twelve cycles? If everyone is focussed of course.”

Vegeta watched this exchange, seeing how Si’eth now deferred to the woman on matters of technology. It was interesting to see how naturally she stepped into a role of authority. He’d watched her about the lab as well, seeing how she directed the work and managed the assistants, ensuring that her invention was made precisely to her design. He supposed this was her role back on Earth, and it was only natural she would gravitate towards a position of responsibility and relative power, but she didn’t seem to notice her own rise in status. Then again, hadn’t she already glowed with a confidence born of her assurance of her own merit? What had really changed but that Vegeta was now noticing it?

“See it is done.” He ordered abruptly.

“You got it.” She smiled - actually  _ smiled  _ \- and flitted out of the theatre with a friendly nod. He found this aspect of her also intriguing, if infuriating. A bow, a ‘yes sir’, a curt nod, these were correct ways to acknowledge your orders. She frequently flouted these conventions, choosing instead flagrant informalities that would have earned anyone else a sharp reprimand - or worse. No-one smiled at Vegeta.

“I’ll need to apply another dressing, but hopefully this will be the last.” Si’eth continued, happily applying anti-septic salve.

Vegeta sighed his agreement but was only half listening. He had a sudden desire to inspect the laboratory.

 

* * *

 

 

Bulma was in her element. Not all the scientists in this lab were medical, in fact at least half of them were the engineers responsible for Vegeta’s original scouter. Being able to draw on the unique medical knowledge of the healers and the skills of the engineers had meant not only was she able to outsource some of the more tedious jobs to skilled hands, but her designs had also undergone many changes and improvements from the healer’s input. There was a strong appeal to being an important part of such a well-oiled machine as Si’eth’s lab, and Bulma was frankly enjoying herself for the first time since her arrival on Planet Cold.

Ala’s image suddenly drifted before her mind’s eye and she thrust it aside hastily. Their last exchange had not been amicable. Bulma had never seen the woman angry before, much less imagined that she could be the one to cause it.

_ Of all the arrogant, stupid, irresponsible things to do! Do you have any idea what you’ve done, child? The danger you’ve put our operation in? _

Bulma had responded to Ala’s fury the same way she would she would to anyone else, with proportional fury of her own. She questioned the ‘operation’, demanded to know how she was expected to safeguard the interests of a plan she had no part in making and had only the tiniest knowledge of. How, she had demanded, could she know what would endanger Ala’s plans if she hadn’t the first clue as to what they were? From what little she could piece together she knew she’d been performing unauthorised modifications on standard tech, and had further deduced that it was something incorporating a propulsion system. It was only a small leap of the imagination to figure from there that Ala was attempting to sabotage military vessels, perhaps with the target being Lord Freeza himself. This she revealed to Ala who, shocked that Bulma had guessed so much from the piecemeal assignments she was given, provided Bulma with the facts she had demanded.

An escape plan. Ala had been painstakingly constructing an escape plan. The parts Bulma had been modifying belonged to a maintenance shuttle that, having been on one long haul space flight too many, had been decommissioned and left unassigned in a hangar. They had been slowly modifying its components, with the end goal being a shuttle that would be undetectable by Freeza’s systems and capable of transporting them to a safe resistance planet. Ala had intended to take only Bulma and would be leaving behind all her contacts on Planet Cold, every one of whom risked their very lives to facilitate Bulma’s escape. All this so that Bulma might be free to join the resistance fully and set her beautiful genius in opposition of Freeza’s expansion.

_ But no, you were too selfish to even consider anything beyond what was immediately in front of you. I am ashamed of you. _

Bulma swallowed the lump in her throat that the raw memory had brought up. It had been a few cycles since this confrontation and Bulma had not seen Ala since. She never seemed to be in the mess hall at the same time as Bulma and when she tried to touch minds with Ala she found nothing but empty space where once a tenuous connection had been. Ala could contact her at anytime, this she knew as on multiple occasions Ala had startled her by projecting her voice into Bulma’s mind from halfway across the compound. She was now disconnected from her entirely and Bulma resented the exclusion.

She repressed the memory harder this time, determined not to let her gnawing anxiety about Ala sour her new-found enthusiasm. She looked up from her work momentarily to clear her head and found her own gaze captured by Vegeta’s.

How long had he been staring at her, and like that? For that matter how long had he been out of theatre? His good eye was black and piercing, and made her feel much like Ala did, that he was reading something plainly written on her skin that she had no way to conceal. It didn’t make her as uncomfortable as it used to; with his frequent visits to the lab she was growing more accustomed to his idiosyncrasies but there were times, like now, when he would catch her off-guard and she felt inexplicably scrutinized. In these moments she did what came naturally to her and flashed him her best, most disarming smile. If he was going to try to make her uncomfortable with his staring then she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of success.

Besides, she couldn’t deny she was enjoying the way it seemed to irritate him.

This time, instead of wrinkling his proud nose in annoyance and turning his eyes haughtily, he held her gaze, his expression now curious. Bulma knew a moment of concern that she’d perhaps gone too far but dismissed it. Despite how their acquaintance had begun she’d come to realise that she didn’t fear him. She knew she ought to but try as she might she could no longer dredge up those feelings of fear and hate that had plagued her so much before now. 

He was by no stretch of the imagination a friend to her, but she was self-aware enough to sense that her feelings of anger and then later pity had been slowly giving way to a kind of admiration. Not the kind she’d had for Goku, nor the slavish adulation of a fool to an idol, but the approving acknowledgement of his strengths. She admired his resilience, his self-command, what little she’d been able to see of his mind she also admired but always as his equal, for what she lacked against his strength of body she more than exceeded when it came to her strength of character. She would never look up to him, but she didn’t quite look down on him either.

She had also found a new enjoyment in her brief conversations with him. His queries about her work were snapped at her in the same sharp manner he had for everyone, but his questions were intelligent and sometimes challenging. They’d almost made a game of trying to catch each other out, an exercise Bulma found refreshing. Sometimes after a particularly good round he would let slip a rare half-smile, an occurrence Bulma would take as a victory. He treated her almost with the respect due to an overseer and she preened in spite of herself and shamefacedly had to admit that the occasional praise he bestowed on her best work motivated her.

She had also concluded after many hours of reflection that once one removed the horrendous scouter he wasn’t so difficult to look at either. She wondered if his long destroyed eye was as dark and finely lined as its surviving fellow.

Her lip twitched at a nervous laugh but she composed herself sternly. He had now dropped her gaze but she could see that his meandering route through the lab was bringing him ever closer to where she worked. It may have been her imagination but she couldn’t shake the feeling he was intentionally pursuing her. Well, if so she’d give him a merry chase, she thought to herself.

She indicated to the technician she was assisting that she was moving on, and took herself calmly to a team of medics on the far side of the lab, an area Vegeta had already inspected. He had no reason to return to this section, she reasoned, so if he was trying to follow her he’d have to give himself away by turning back on himself. She caught his eye once more as she passed him and risked the tiniest of playful smiles.

She had little time for more, but she thought she saw his expression darken as she swept by. She kept her back turned to him, leaning over the medical workstation and directing the work there. She couldn’t hear Vegeta and Si’eth’s muted conversation over the noise of the machines cooking up her silicon, nor even make out their soft footsteps, so she focused on the work, not daring to look up.

The doors slid open and Bulma glanced at them in surprise just in time to see Vegeta leave. She felt a moment’s irritation that he hadn’t taken her bait, followed by a grounding embarrassment that she’d been attempting such childish games at all. He wasn’t following her, she realised. He was inspecting the lab, and when he’d seen enough he left. That was all. Somewhat deflated she returned to her work and tried to think as little as possible about directors and overseers.

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t until she’d smirkingly passed him in the lab that he truly realised what he’d been doing. What would his inspection of the lab truly gain him? He already received Si’eth’s daily reports, had all the blueprints, knew precisely the planned function of every part of this new equipment. No, he wasn’t truly inspecting the laboratory, he’d been seeking the woman. It was the disappointment of seeing her smirkingly move out of his reach that alerted him to this unacknowledged motive, the realisation of which filled him with real anger.

This was not the dull, distant anger that he’d grown accustomed to. This was sharp, stomach-churning fury. It was like a gut-punch, bringing with it all the self-disgust that he thought long since buried. The last time he’d felt anything so potent was in his fight with Cui, and before that he could not remember.

Of course she was fascinating; she didn’t behave like anyone else he’d ever met on this planet, it stood to reason that he’d be mildly interested in her otherness. He could reason with himself on that point. He was drawn by her oddness and merely wished to observe what odd thing she would do next. He carefully did not consider any of the times he’d begrudgingly - though silently - conferred his admiration on her, nor did he care to examine how her proximity and unexpected movement had left him feeling over-hot and nervous.

It was his own weakness that allowed his curiosity to take a form that could so easily be misinterpreted by a casual observer. Had any of them noticed? He didn’t think so, but had he been less guarded and made straight for her position, engaged with her and reacted calmly to her disrespectful ways, what then? These idle fools had little to occupy them beyond their work, what rumours would abound then? He already gave her too much notice as it was in his general inspections, he had been blind to not see that he’d been singling her out.

His anger, though inwardly directed, burst its banks and spilled out over Bulma. It was her fault. He’d given her good advice, more than he’d ever given anyone, and she chose to ignore it and thereby make herself a target, and prove a distraction to him. How dare she, he thought in his anger. Her attitude was unacceptable. He would speak to Si’eth immediately and demand an acceptable level of discipline in his lab.

Vegeta’s paced slowed to a halt. No he wouldn’t. If he did that what conclusion would then be drawn but that Vegeta had taken notice of this human?

Neither she, nor anyone else on planet, must ever be allowed to think that the human was special.

Even if he was being forced to admit by his daily observation that she inarguably was.

 

* * *

 

 

It had been more than two days since Bulma had last seen the Saiyan and she found herself wondering about that. Previously he had appeared either daily or every other day to check progress. It was understandable, being as he was so intimately tied to the project, that he would want to be informed of every detail. It was also useful too as his opinion was sometimes required on aspects of the project that would impact him. Since he last had his dressings changed however she had seen neither hide nor hair of him.

His absence from her lab had brought into sharp relief some truths she had not up to now given much thought to. She was chastened by their previous interaction and had to admit that she’d been indulging some foolish notions about her position, but more disturbingly she was realising that more than just having gotten used to his acerbic presence, she enjoyed it. When a third day had passed without his highness stalking around her laboratory she was confused by her own disappointment. It couldn’t be that he was kind to her, he certainly was not, but he was at least something different in the humdrum routine that had become her life.

How long had she been on this cold, dim planet, she wondered? She’d counted the number of times she’d bled and estimated somewhere between three and four months. It had been at least that long since she’d seen anything that resembled a human more than he did. She knew he was an alien, that his human appearance was superficial, but nevertheless it made him somehow more familiar to her. She thought about his fight with Cui. She remembered in surprising detail the particular turn of his foot, the curve of his bicep, even the calm set of his mouth. That last one stuck with her and she wondered that she’d never before noticed how well formed it was. His individual features on the whole she found to be remarkably fine but they’d always been distorted by that horrendous scarring of his. She could appreciate now what a great loss his disfigurement must have been to him.

Then again, did he understand things as basic as physical attraction? Probably not, from what she’d heard. Rumour attested that he’d never partaken of the pleasure slaves, nor once succumbed to the occasional overtures of his fellow soldiers. It was all very perplexing.

The lab door hissed open and she glanced up quickly, but was again disappointed to see that it was only a maintenance worker come to disinfect the theatre. She shook her head. Her standards for interest had dropped significantly, she told herself, if the arrival of a person she’d up until recently hated thoroughly was such an anticipated event.

 

* * *

 

 

It was the fourth day of Vegeta’s absence from Si’eth’s lab and he knew he could put it off no longer. The first trial fitting was due today, as were the removal of his dressings and he needed to be present if he hoped to have a casing that fit even remotely well. They had all his measurements and all the digital models had concluded well but if he knew engineers he knew that nothing should be left to chance. Besides, he’d had very firm words with himself about his behaviour in that laboratory and would be in no further danger of exciting inaccurate speculation.

He refrained from performing a visual sweep of the lab when he entered, choosing to trust in Si’eth’s abilities, and yet he saw that tell-tale aquamarine bob in his peripheral vision anyway. Damnable woman.

Si’eth clocked him immediately and stepped forward in greeting.

“Your highness, we’re almost ready for you.” He smiled warmly, as always unphased by Vegeta’s coldness. “Would you like to head to the theatre for some privacy?”

Vegeta indicated that he would and proceeded towards the back end of the lab where the theatre was located. The familiar chair, the restraints, the smells of Si’eth’s potions and the ever present disinfectant all mingled together, a familiar sensory landscape to him. He placed himself astride the operating chair, leaning forward to better see through the observation windows. True to his word, Si’eth was not long in coming, but Vegeta had to suppress his sudden anger when he saw that he did not come alone. The Earth woman accompanied him.

The door hissed open. She looked right at him, and she smiled.

“This shouldn’t take very long.” Si’eth reassured him. “We’re pretty certain that our models are correct, but Bulma has made a couple of different options for you.”

He was using her name, Vegeta noted, rather than her designation. That was unguarded of him. He also referred to the work as hers, not the combination of the lab’s efforts. Interesting.

“You don’t need to lie back for this, as you are would be fine if you’d like us to proceed?”

Vegeta nodded and Bulma deposited her box of prototypes on the nearby surface. She laid out a series of cream coloured casings that all, theoretically, should be perfectly moulded to his face. She then picked up the first in her slender hands and beamed proudly.

“Your dressings, sir?” Si’eth nudged gently and Vegeta realised with a furious blush that he’d been idly watching the woman. He turned his face to Si’eth, who began the process of removing bandages and poking at old wounds that he apparently found so fascinating. He could no longer see Bulma who stood on the wrong side of him to be in his periphery, but he could hear her pottering around the lab, preparing for the fitting.

“As expected, these wounds are closed. All that’s left is a little scabbing and scar tissue, which should fade if properly managed this time.” Si’eth murmured more to Bulma that to him. “We can get straight on with the fitting. You may want to pop your head on the rest for this part, sir. That proxy has to come out I’m afraid.”

Vegeta nodded, his jaw clenching as he lay back. It was an unpleasant procedure, both painful and grotesque, but it was also brief. Si’eth wisely did not push his anesthetics this time, but with practiced efficiency used his specialised tools to extract the proxy. Thus exposed, Vegeta lay with no more than a medical cloth covering his open eye socket while Si’eth fiddled with the first of the prototypes. Such was his discomfort that he was completely unprepared to be addressed by the woman.

“This first model is kind of soft, so while it’ll go in easily it won’t hold its shape as well as the others, but we’re gonna start with it to see if the fit is right, ok?” Her voice was unusually gentle, and close by his ear on his blind side. He was startled by her closeness but hid it, squeezing the armrests instead. “I’m just going to remove this cloth, alright?”

She didn’t really give him time to object. Before he knew what was happening her hands were touching his face. The contact was momentary as her warm skin brushed against his but it was enough to make his face burn. He flinched noticeably. What shocked him most was that he  _ was _ shocked. He could feel the blood rushing to his face even as he fought to quell the emotion. He didn’t even know what emotion he was suppressing. Embarrassment? Anger? It had been so long since he’d truly felt anything that he couldn’t decipher it. She moved into his vision, she was frowning.

“You look uncomfortable.” She said, eyeing his tightened grip on the armrests. “Si’eth, do you think the proxy was too big? I’d prefer it if we administered pain relief-”

“I’m fine.” He snapped, forcing his hands to relax. “Just get on with it.”

“Alright. Just say if you need us to stop, ok?” Her voice was still so gentle, almost soothing, but what empty reassurance he took from that was nullified by his growing tension at how he was allowing her to affect him with little more than calm words and her soft touch.

Si’eth suddenly loomed over him with the casing and Vegeta steeled himself to endure the first of many fittings that afternoon, while maintaining his cold veneer. Easier said than done, he thought, when at one point Bulma crouched so closely beside him that he could feel her very breath on the blind side of his face.

“The virtual models were spot on.” She almost whispered, exultantly. “How does it feel?”

He grit his teeth and moved his head slightly from side to side, then looked around the room with his good eye to see if there was any pain from those movements. He was surprised that, aside from the residual discomfort of having the casing installed, there was no additional irritation. He said as much to the pleased pair, and he felt the strangest twisting in his gut when Bulma beamed proudly at his words. 

When Si’eth asked her to help him with the next prototype Vegeta was ready and did not flinch at her touch, but he couldn’t stop his face from tingling in the places where her skin touched his. They worked through each model, discussing where improvement to the fit should be made and the merits of the harder and softer grades, asking Vegeta for his opinion as often as they did his patience. Bulma especially seemed to take great pride in her work, and he realised uneasily that her reaction to his approval pleased him in a way he couldn’t understand.

It seemed to last forever but eventually the fitting was over and Bulma was packing them away to be sterilised. Si’eth laid out a familiar set of tools and Vegeta quashed a sigh, knowing what came next.

“Before I replace the proxy, sir, I need to check up on the damage to the back of the socket.” Si’eth informed him apologetically. “Bulma, you can go. You won’t be needed for this.”

She nodded, smiled again and was gone with nary a backwards glance. Vegeta was disappointed in a way, but glad that he would not have to maintain so much of his composure for this next part. Si’eth wisely shut the blinds on the observation windows.

“Are you ready, sir?” Vegeta nodded grimly and Si’eth reached for the first of his tools.

 

* * *

 

 

Bulma entered the mess hall flushed with success that evening. The fitting had exceeded her highest expectations and she couldn’t help but show it. He’d even acknowledged her upon taking his leave of the lab, wearing the cosmetic patch she’d crafted to cover his eyehole once the dressings were off. She hadn’t expected that.

She sat with either the medical staff or her roommates now, having found that the conversations of her previous labmates centred around a daily routine she was no longer a part of, but that was fine. Her mind was ablaze with her latest project, and she adjusted, as was her way, to her new circle.

The whole team was in high spirits, having shared in Si’eth and Bulma’s sense of achievement, and the table was lively with talk and laughter. As such it was greatly jarring when Bulma felt herself summoned by a familiar presence.

_ My child, we must speak. _

Instinctively Bulma looked around herself, despite knowing full well the voice came from within her own skull. Ala was nowhere to be seen in the canteen.

_ Finish your meal, dear, then please come to me. I will guide you as to where when you are ready. It will be safe. _

The contact was gone and Bulma felt again the emptiness where Ala had been. She had lately begun to fancy that she could sense Ala on the edge of her senses somewhere and now she suspected that she had been brushing up against Bulma’s mind with a careful touch, so as not to give herself away. Bulma was instantly angry at this thought, that Ala would be both deceptive and invasive, but she chose to wait until she was able to speak to her directly before fully drawing conclusions.

The paper-thin charade of social pleasure was punctured for Bulma now, anxiety weighing heavy on her stomach. Her food had lost its flavour. She gulped down what she could and feigned a headache to her colleagues whose well-wishes followed her from the canteen. Once outside and able to breath the cooler night air of the corridor she felt the tell-tale whisper of Ala’s mind that preceded all communication with her.

_ Good. Now please, just walk. Don’t think about where you’re going, just let your body lead you and I will keep you safe. _

Bulma was skeptical but she did as instructed, merely putting one foot before the other and allowing her route to be dictated by the nebulous machinations of Ala. Occasionally she’d have a good feeling about a corridor and turn that way. She tried to follow Ala’s instruction but despite her effort to not think about where she was going she could see that she was headed out of the third circle where her quarters were situated and beyond to the fourth circle. Bulma frowned. The fourth circle housed the lowest caste of slaves - those workers and flesh slaves who performed all menial tasks and were treated like animals - and all the storage depots. It also was how soldiers accessed the hangars that nestled against the edge of Planet Cold’s giant bubble city like little polyps. Her clothes alone would single her out as not belonging there: what business would an off duty researcher have here without her overseer?

A sudden sense of foreboding gripped her at the same moment she spotted a storage cupboard. She sensed Ala, and knew what she wanted her to do. No sooner had she slipped quietly into the storage unit than a single soldier sauntered leisurely around the nearest bend. She hadn’t heard him approach. She waited patiently until the heavy feeling of dread passed and she knew Ala was telling her it was safe to come out.

The decor of the corridors changed as she passed through the circles into the fourth. Whilst the second and third circles were not elaborate in any way they were moderately adorned with an aesthetically pleasing finish. The walls in the fourth circle were stark and it was clear that they were built entirely for function. It was colder too, and sparsely lit in comparison to the comfort she’d recently left. She shuddered involuntarily, wishing she’d brought something to both warm her and cover her researcher’s tunic.

She saw no more soldiers that night but she passed many maintenance workers coming and going, some just starting and others having finished their gruelling daily toil. Almost none met her eye, and those that did showed her nothing encouraging. Some flinched away in reflexive fear, others just stared on with dead, hopeless eyes. She’d heard that many of them used their pitiful allowance of credits to purchase sedatives, and she could see why. She walked on.

It seemed like a long time, though she reasoned it couldn’t have been more than five or ten minutes, but eventually she found her destination as a large hangar airlock door slid open on her approach.

“Bulma.” Ala spoke aloud from within it, beckoning her in.

The hangar was old, and from the looks of it mostly disused. The launch pads were littered with detritus and spare parts from the various decommissioned aircraft that hung suspended from their harnesses. Ala stood near the entrance, standing as straight and aloof as ever, surveying the room before turning to cast her black orbs on Bulma. She knew immediately why she was here: Ala’s escape plan. Ala approached her and bestowed both a physical and mental embrace, taking Bulma entirely by surprise. She had expected coldness, or a repeat of their last argument, but it she felt no animosity.

_ My girl, I am very pleased you came. _

In a private corner of Bulma’s mind, one she had learned to shield from Ala by force of will, she considered that it wasn’t  _ precisely _ a choice on her part.

_ When last I saw you I spoke in anger. Please understand that I was afraid for you, and for every soul in our organisation. But I see now the value of what you were attempting and I am now prepared to support you in that. _

Bulma was confused. Did Ala want to aid her in creating Vegeta’s scouter? If so, why?

_ No, no dear child. I have been watching you closely, for your own safety, and I have come to realise that your bigger goal can be of extreme strategic importance. _

Bulma felt coldness begin to slowly seep into her skin. She had a vague and horrible feeling about what Ala meant.

_ The Saiyan could be of great use. _

The coldness settled hard in Bulma’s stomach and she stepped back from Ala slightly, which did not go unnoticed.

_ Bulma, it is known that you court his goodwill. Do not deny it. _

She cast over her memories of the last few weeks and found, to her horror that it would appear to even the most casual observer that she did indeed vye for his favour. Obviously she did, in order to be allowed to pursue a project that was intellectually interesting to her, but did it go further than that? What had she planned to do after the scouter was finished? It’s not like she could just flit off to some other project, she’d be expected to maintain and improve his equipment permanently. And yes, despite her hot streak she was by nature a friendly person and would always be the first, once calm, to extend the olive branch, anyone might mistake that for a deliberate attempt to curry favour with the wrong person. But now she had to think hard about it, and about her antics earlier that week, parading across the lab to get his attention, why did she do that? What was she trying to prove?

Ala was frowning, and she put her hands gently on Bulma’s upper arms to steady and calm her. Bulma’s scattered thoughts came into order and she realised that they’d only been in such a state because Ala had been reading them.

_ I see. Had I been able to more than merely breath on your thoughts these last dozen cycles I would have realised sooner, but no matter. I thought perhaps that you had intended to use Prince Vegeta as a means to further our goals, but I understand now that you have been honest to a fault. Still, it matters not. You are here now, and I know you will not shirk from your duty, brave girl. _

In her private corner, Bulma noticed yet another uncharacteristic endearment. It had never been Ala’s way to be so warm with her.

_ Your mission has somewhat evolved, my dear. Are you ready to go home? _

Those words alone flooded Bulma’s forebrain with images that wrenched her with the deepest of longing; her mother’s smile, her father’s proud twinkling eyes, Yamcha’s loving arms… she would never be more ready, she thought.

_ Then you will need to follow my instructions. And this time, please, keep me informed of all your plans and ideas. I will guide you as to their suitability. _

Bulma rankled at that. She still didn’t think she’d done anything wrong, if anything trying to help someone - even someone like Vegeta - seemed to her to be the morally upstanding thing to do. She recalled with a brief smirk his expression as he’d handled her new synthetics for the first time, that mix of wonder and approval, how human it had made him seem to her. She remembered how he had looked at her when he left her lab only that afternoon, how it seemed like he was trying to say something before he stalked out. A trick of the light made it look like he was blushing. Her traitor brain then wound the clock back further to show him standing over her, in a corridor, the remains of a broken soldier nearby, asking her if she was alright...

_ Bulma.  _ Ala’s tone was warning.  _ You are starting down a treacherous path, I urge you against it. That man is not your friend. That man is violent and dangerous and cannot be trusted. Please do not allow his demeanor to deceive you in this, nor his past actions towards yourself. If he suspected even for a moment that you were involved in the resistance he would kill you without a thought. _

Ala’s huge black eyes bored into Bulma as she stood staring at her, unable to move away but also unable to say anything in defense of her thoughts regarding Vegeta. She didn’t think of him as a friend, potential or otherwise, she tried to send that notion to Ala but couldn’t uncouple it from the idea that  _ he’s not so bad when you get to know him.  _ Ala merely frowned, her mouth just visible above her headscarf.

“You’ve had a very trying few weeks.” Ala said out loud. She took Bulma by the arm and began to lead her further into the hangar towards one particularly sad looking shuttle. “Come, let me show you what your hard work has been leading to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO MUCH for the wonderful comments. They really are wonderful.


	8. Skin

Chapter 8 - Skin

 

_ “Look at me when I’m talking to you, monkey!” _

_ “Of course, my Lord.” _

_ Vegeta’s cold, empty gaze was fixed upon him, and yet somehow it wasn‘t. It was vacant and unfocused, like the eyes of a dead man. Something about the way he acquiesced, the too easy manner of his submission, and yet complete lack of attention enraged Freeza and he slapped Vegeta hard across the face. When he had recovered from the hit he returned that empty visage immediately to his master. Freeza let out a sigh of thwarted frustration; it was always like this now. Whether publicly tormenting him, insulting him, or even now laying his own hand to the task of bringing the monkey down to his rightful level, there was no reaction anymore. There was nothing to indicate that inside this body lurked a mortal soul capable of pain and joy. Freeza had made a minor game of toying with his pride and pushing the limits of his sanity and now, it would seem, he had won that game, but his prize was an empty and utterly boring tool. _

_ He gripped Vegeta by the chin in one indescribably powerful hand. Vegeta just stared at him, any trace of fear lost in his customary apathy. Did he want to die? Did he even care? _

_ Freeza snorted in disgust and thrust Vegeta away from him. He returned to his throne and folded into it, snapping his fingers at Zarbon to fetch his wine. _

_ “Your duties as captain will begin immediately.” He snarled, frustrated and bored. “Report to the administration department in this circle to receive your briefing on your assignments, your ship and your crew. New garments are being transferred to your living quarters, and you have been moved to the officer's floor of the second circle. Your possessions will have been transferred by now. Get out of my sight.” _

_ “Of course, my lord.” He rose from his knees, where he’d remained in the absence of previous orders. “My thanks.” _

_ The stiff bow he gave, neither obsequious nor insolent, inflamed Freeza’s anger and he had to restrain himself as the Saiyan turned and left the throne room to follow his orders, leaving him alone with Zarbon. _

_ He said nothing to Zarbon, who he could feel seething resentfully in his corner, and drained his wine. _

 

The Saibamen offered very little catharsis that afternoon. They weren’t even enough of a challenge to achieve the abnegation that Vegeta sought and as such he could not help but replay the day’s events in his mind.

After Si’eth had finished poking around inside his head, he’d replaced the false eye and proclaimed him free to go. Vegeta was ready to leave but as he opened the theatre door that ridiculous woman had looked up from her work and given him a sympathetic smile. He was hit by a sudden bout of self-consciousness as he realised this was the first time he’d been out of the theatre without his dressings on. He must look hideous to her, and to anyone else. He’d retreated back into the theatre, trying to appear as if he’d forgotten something, but then he was at a loss as to what he meant to achieve by it.

“What’s the matter, your highness?” Si’eth looked up from the implements he was busy sterilising.

What could he say? Vegeta glanced towards the door again and, holding his breath as he did so, turned to observe himself in the usually avoided mirror. He had to look away almost immediately. “It’s nothing.”

Si’eth was quiet a moment, but then he erupted with brittle cheeriness. “Oh my! You know what I’ve forgotten, sir? It quite slipped my mind but you can’t go out like that.”

Vegeta, in spite of himself, glared at Si’eth.

“How could I send you out into those particle filled corridors without a protective covering?” He was talking quickly and opening cupboards, looking for something in a hurried, falsely jovial way. “Bulma whipped up this patch for you, self-adhesive of course. You should wear it at all times, it will protect the cavity from infection and also keep the remaining wounds clean - they’re not entirely healed yet of course.” He barked a little laugh at the end there and Vegeta saw plainly what he was doing, but could not himself understand the motivation. He required no patch. The proxy created a seal around his eye socket that prevented any particle breach and the wounds were barely even scabbed now. Si’eth saw easily what ailed him and now offered, by claiming medical efficacy, to conceal Vegeta’s shame.

But it had never shamed him before. Why now?

“Damn your memory, boy.” Vegeta snapped, grasping gratefully at the rope he’d been thrown. “Well, get on with it.”

The doctor knew, they both did, that he was playing along with the sham, but Vegeta wondered why was he even provided the option. Was it his fear of him? The prince didn’t know how he felt about that.

And so he returned to the hated chair and allowed Si’eth to carefully attach the eyepatch, which turned out to be more like a mask. It was an upturned tear-shape that covered his scarring from his brow to just under his cheek bone, and was stylishly moulded to his face shape. He braved a glance in the mirror and found the look, whilst a little disconcerting, not so revolting as his naked aspect.

“According to the plans this is what the completed work will look like, sir.” Si’eth added quietly. “Your scouter will sit in the final casing we cast but externally it will have a cover very much like this one, to protect it from atmospheric and environmental hazards. I hope you approve.”

He did. Very much. The mask hid all but the least offensive of his scars behind a sleek grey front with stylistic contours that aimed to restore some of the symmetry that was lost with his eye. He could see the faint outline where in the finished product the scouter would be visible. This was more than engineering, he realised: it was art. He nodded briefly to Si’eth, not sure what to say, and hesitantly opened the theatre door. 

Bulma had not moved from her work. She glanced up in very much the same way she had before, but this time instead of sympathy she grinned widely and stood up straight for a better look at him. He tried to identify what emotion was behind that smile, but his own emotions had eluded him for so long that he was deficient in the ability to guess another’s. If anything he now felt even more self-conscious, but for different reasons. He stood still a moment too long, trying to find the words he felt the situation called for. Her gaze held his too comfortably, and he turned away in embarrassment, instead trying to stride out of the lab in as dignified a manner as he could manage. He felt his face warm and cursed himself furiously; he was  _ blushing _ ! He, the prince of all Saiyans, confused and blushing at no more than a friendly overture! 

He thought he knew where to go, and had been there since he left the medical department, unleashing his frustration upon the Saibamen now dissolving at his feet like so many discarded blades of grass. They did nothing to reduce his discomfort.

He kept fighting anyway, requesting higher numbers of opponents from the lab staff. It wasn’t until he cast an angry glare at the observation window and saw one frightened assistant holding up an empty syringe that he understood he’d completely decimated their stores. Defeated, he punched the exit panel and swept out of the lab without a further word to the assistants.

There was only one other place on planet that could possibly provide the physical stress he needed, and so with great reluctance he headed for the communal gyms.

 

* * *

 

The ship was a wreck, and the hangar wasn’t much better. She truly doubted it would ever see flight again, as even if she could get it working they then had to rely on old, barely used launch gear to get it through the roof of the circular hangar. The roof would open, Ala assured her, and from there it was a case of getting through the energy force field that kept the compound’s atmosphere from dispersing. The barrier, she had learned, was beautifully simple in that aspect, as any object that projected the same kind of field would have its shields merge seamlessly with the barrier and emerge on the other side without ever risking the safety of those living within it, much like how a small soap bubble can pass through the walls of a much larger one. It was impressive design, but she was not certain this old, disused little maintenance shuttle would be able to produce enough energy for both the ascent and the force field at the same time.

Ala was unaffected by Bulma’s pessimism, and seemed to think that time and hard work would win the day. Indeed she was convinced that once Bulma herself immersed herself in the project that she would feel the same.

_ Perhaps if you devoted less energy to your little scouter hobby and more to what is important you’d see this as I do. _ She pointed out. Her tone was gentle but the accusatory note was unmistakeable. Bulma felt her face flush with anger, but took a breath to calm herself. There was no point getting into a fight here.

_ As long as I’m performing my current duties well they have no reason to suspect me.  _ She returned, hoping she was managing to conceal the anger she felt.  _ Then I only need to find my way here somehow on my rest days without being noticed or missed by anyone. I’m sure that will be just easy-peasy. _

Ala frowned at Bulma’s passive aggressive remark.  _ Have you so little faith in me? I have planned ahead. We won’t need you here very often - if at all. It makes far more sense to have maintenance workers and engineers do this work, no? _

Ala ghosted an image of resistance members in the brown garb of the lowest ranks through Bulma’s mind, and she saw them moving unnoticed like ants in a nest, performing tasks under Ala’s careful direction. She often forgot that she was not Ala’s only pawn. So if she wasn’t here to get down to her greasemonkey roots, what  _ was _ she here for?

_ The most delicate of work.  _ Ala answered her unasked question. _ We are leaving this place together, you and I, and if we’re going to do that we have to cover our tracks. The resistance has many strongholds, but to set coordinates to any of them will give them away to the central computer and compromise our entire operation. We need some kind of cloaking device, not just for the physical ship but for the software. It needs to be able to launch itself independently of the main computers. _

Ala smiled almost fondly and put her hand back on Bulma’s shoulder.  _ I have never touched a mind as impressive as yours; where others think in straight lines that falter when they hit their self-made walls you seem to think in corkscrews, twisting and winding around your obstacles. Where many of my scientists would think “it can’t be done” I have seen you ponder “well what if I do this?” I have observed you dive headlong into an intellectual problem and emerge with the most imaginative of solutions that I’d never even dreamed of. You are special Bulma, no-one else can do this. _

“I’ll need to access the mainframe again.” Bulma murmured aloud. “Gotta see what sort of code I’m working with.”

“I can translate that for you.” Ala assured her, also aloud.

“Hmm.” Bulma nodded, distracted as her mind wound itself around the problem, cutting it up into smaller tasks and laying them out before her like a map. “I mean you’ve been doing that all this time, right? You’ve been feeding my brain the information it needed to get around the systems. There’s no other way I could have become so adept with them in so little time.”

Ala nodded solemnly.

“And you say I can do this remotely, I’m guessing from the R&D department?”

“You’re just visiting your old overseer on your day off. It is not an uncommon thing to see. Perhaps I am helping you with you current project, who is to know?”

Bulma smiled in spite of herself. She was going to be so exhausted before all this was over, but the thought excited her.  _ And when I’ve done this for you, I can go to my family? _

Ala paused for slightly too long.  _ Of course, child. As soon as the necessary steps have been taken. _

_ And what about my official work? If I let that suffer they’ll notice. _

_ Quite right, you must not let those standards slip either. More importantly you must continue to gain favour with the Saiyan Vegeta. He could prove useful in defending our interests. _

Bulma felt herself growing cross again at Ala’s vagueness.  _ What do you mean by that? How can you see him being useful? _

_ I see more than you do.  _ Ala turned away from Bulma for a moment, as if gathering her thoughts.  _ I have seen glimpses through your eyes and I see things I have never nor ever expected to see. That man is cruel, uncompromising, evil to his core, and yet I saw him looking at you as if through new eyes. I think the Saiyan could be made to develop feelings for you of a warmer nature, and that we could use his infatuation to our advantage. _

Bulma shuddered visibly. She tried to pass it off as a chill rather than disgust but Ala was not fooled.

_ You blame me?  _ She turned to Bulma, her large eyes hard with resolve.  _ I understand your reluctance of course, your heart is pure in essentials, but I only ask you to continue what you’ve already been doing. Do you deny it? _

Bulma could not.

_ The only difference is that now when you attempt to fraternize with such a creature you know it’s for a better cause than mere idle sport on your part. _

The rebuke was harsh, but again Bulma was unable to honestly refute it. She turned her head, avoiding Ala’s gaze and instead ran her hands over the ship’s controls. 

It was late and she was weary in body and mind. Noticing these things Ala relented and took Bulma’s unresisting hand.  _ Time for you to get some sleep. Come, I will escort you back to your circle. Wear this maintenance robe and keep your head down and no one will so much as glance at you. _

Bulma sighed and shouldered the disguise over her science tunic. She suddenly felt a lot less excited about the whole enterprise.

 

* * *

 

 

Having rarely been in attendance there it was unsurprising that Vegeta’s entrance at the gyms turned a few heads. After his fight with Cui he had commanded more respect, or fear, from the common soldiers, and they conscientiously moved out of his way. With there being such a breadth of power level in Freeza’s army, the gyms catered for soldiers of almost all abilities. And for those special few, among whom he counted himself, there was a far better chance of finding that which technology could never replicate: a worthy opponent.

As he expected, an assistant accosted him directly.

“Captain Vegeta! We haven’t seen you in some time, sir. Can I be of service?”

“I am in need of a sparring partner.” He growled. “Find me someone.”

He gave no further instruction, but he didn’t need to. The servant hastened away to scan the room for suitable power levels to which he could present Captain Vegeta’s challenge. It was standard practice, though not a daily occurrence, for the more elite of Freeza’s soldiers to find training mates this way. He held out little hope for a result but he waited patiently all the same, observing the gym idly.

It was not a series of specialised rooms but a large, shallow chamber separated by dividers. Training equipment for the various disciplines were supplied with low walls between them so the soldiers could work on their strength or speed together. Had Vegeta ever seen an Earth gym he would not have noted a great deal of difference, beyond the crudity of the technology of course.

“Captain,” The assistant looked up from his terminal to catch Vegeta’s attention, “A match request has been accepted, sir. Zarbon offers you his services.”

Vegeta was speechless, but he hid his shock beneath a neutral expression. That Zarbon was even here and not in the First Circle licking Freeza’s boots astounded him, but there was the proof, gracefully climbing the steps towards him. He had his customary cold smile but his eyes were hard as agates.

“I didn’t expect to see you here, of all places.” He opined as he approached. “Run out of Saibamen have we?”

Vegeta ignored his comment but forced himself to engage in conversation, rising to his feet as he did so. “And what brings you among us mere mortals, Zarbon. I would have thought you’d be in the Wardroom at this hour.”

He shrugged, flicking his green braid artfully behind him. “Perhaps we are not so different in our needs,  _ Captain _ .”

Vegeta took him in; usually Zarbon was pristine in his presentation, and excessively vain, but he was without his cape and other accoutrements that usually adorned him. It appeared that Zarbon was legitimately training. He was surprised, having always thought of him as indolent when not at his master’s heel, but then he’d devoted very little consideration to Zarbon beyond those occasions when he was forced to tolerate his presence.

“What are you waiting for?” Zarbon asked in response to Vegeta’s stony silence. “Have you changed your mind? I can’t blame you, but I’d be disappointed.”

“Fine, let’s go.” Vegeta snapped, more annoyed that Zarbon’s jab got to him than at the insult itself. He tried to shoulder past Zarbon who smirked and stepped aside politely, bringing the blood to Vegeta’s cheeks as he stalked towards the sparring chambers.

The chambers adjoined the larger communal gym and were large, sturdy rooms with especially thick walls designed to safely contain the combatants within. They were not unlike the chambers into which Saibamen were released, though much larger. Vegeta stood in the centre of the room now, surveying the carefully measured and differently coloured lines on the tiled floor.

“I think some ground rules are in order.” Zarbon purred as the door locked shut behind him. “I think firstly, we can both agree, hair is off limits.”

Vegeta almost laughed but turned it into a snort. He nodded his agreement.

“Secondly, let’s set our out-of-bounds. I think here,” Zarbon indicated the red painted lines about a metre in from the walls, containing a space roughly 10 metres square, “will suit our purposes.”

Vegeta nodded again. Any opponent out-of-bounds had a grace period in which to get up and dust himself off before re-entering the space.

Zarbon continued. “Thirdly, and to be fair only I need concern myself with  _ this _ rule but I might as well tell you, no killing.”

Vegeta knew he was being baited but for once he couldn’t help himself. “You think I couldn’t kill you if I tried?”

Zarbon merely laughed. “Monkey, I would  _ love _ to see you try. Even with both eyes you’ll never be a match for me. I’m only here to do you a favour.”

He nearly bit his tongue to prevent himself snapping back. What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he keep his temper under control? Instead he crouched into his preferred stance, and felt a small flurry of anxious excitement flow through him as Zarbon did the same. This would be the most challenging fight he’d had since he lost his eye and as much as he despised Zarbon personally he couldn’t repress his anticipation.

Zarbon moved first, and Vegeta noted that he avoided his blind side, an honourable move that he would make him regret. He dodged nimbly but did not follow through to attack the obvious opening that Zarbon had left him. Instead he moved in the opposite direction and aimed a sweeping kick at the back of Zarbon’s knees. He was short by a hair and the brief moment he needed to rebalance himself was enough for his opponent to spin around and send a fist whistling past his nose.

_ Too close _ .

Acting swiftly Vegeta grabbed his wrist and used the momentum already behind it to pull its owner off balance. Zarbon’s head came in range of his own, and lacking the space to effectively punch he recklessly headbutted instead. He saw stars and knew he’d done himself as much damage as Zarbon, but at least he’d made his point: Zarbon would not so easily dismiss him.

He looked up to smirk at Zarbon but saw only a fist, a fist he might have avoided if he hadn’t been so set on posturing. The explosion of pain and the subsequent pounding behind his eye assured him that he’d have a severe headache from this bout.

“First blood, well done.” Zarbon congratulated him, wiping some of his own blood from a cut on his lip. “I see I was taking it far too easy on you, monkey.”

The old insult, that he’d ignored moments ago and previously for countless orbits, suddenly incensed him and the moment he could see clearly he flew at Zarbon. His style was constrained, not a movement wasted, but Zarbon was simply too fast and cool-headed for Vegeta to force an opening. As long as he stayed on the defensive Vegeta couldn’t touch him. Zarbon smiled at him patronizingly.

“Ahem, Vegeta?”

He paused his onslaught, and at Zarbon’s polite indication looked down at his own feet and grimaced.

“How long have I been out-of-bounds?” He muttered, stepping back with clenched fists.

“The last three or four punches I’d say. You Saiyans really do have tunnel-vision when you go on the offensive, don’t you?”

Vegeta ignored his comment and returned to the centre of the room, despite the conscious effort it cost him to turn his back to his enemy. Zarbon followed at a leisurely pace.

“Or I could be wrong. Perhaps there is something else distracting you today.” Zarbon suggested knowingly. “Rumour has it that you’re quite invested in the little science projects Lord Freeza gave you.”

“Is that so.” He replied neutrally, returning to his starting pose pointedly.

“Yes indeed. Although it is believed you’re getting a little off track these days, funnelling resources from your assigned projects into your personal medical team instead.” Zarbon allowed himself an indulgent chuckle. “From the talk I hear I suspect your interests may have moved from engineering to biology, if you catch my meaning.”

Vegeta did not understand, and chose not to try. Whatever Zarbon was implying was clearly meant as a barb. Zarbon continued.

“Yes, after all these orbits you’re finally exciting some gossip. I’d rather given up hope that you’d ever again provide us with entertainment.”

“I don’t know what you’re babbling about and I don’t care. I’m here to train, not jabber like an old woman.” Vegeta bit his words off viciously as a slow suspicion left its icy touch in his chest.

“Suit yourself.” Zarbon shrugged, sinking into his opening stance.

This time he waited for Vegeta to come at him. They fought in silence, Zarbon always having the slight upper hand and Vegeta overly cautious after being caught out the first time. After several minutes of this and many blows taken on both sides Zarbon began to prod Vegeta again.

“I suppose I ought to inspect your labs at some point.” He said, dodging a leg sweep and landing gracefully. “Especially your medical department.”

Vegeta only replied with his fists. He misjudged a swing and his fist went sailing past Zarbon’s head, bringing their faces closer together than he liked.

“You moved that pretty little Earthling there, didn’t you.” Zarbon almost whispered in his ear. At those words Vegeta felt his insides freeze with an anxiety he hadn’t felt in years. Zarbon chuckled and back stepped lightly out of range.

“I don’t blame you, I haven’t seen her myself but I’m told she’s the one you killed Cui’s man for. She’s apparently quite the dish to you mammal types.”

He didn’t answer, couldn’t answer. He prayed that his shocked silence was only interpreted as neutral disinterest. He cared nothing for the woman beyond what she could provide for him in the laboratory, but if he said that his words would be twisted and turned back on him as something else. All the while Zarbon smirkingly danced around Vegeta, just out of his range, taunting him to attack. He knew it was a trap but it was that or stay stood still like a dumb fool. He was slower than Zarbon, despite his smaller stature, and Zarbon’s longer reach meant he had no chance to connect a blow before being hit himself. He could try to parry but not knowing which angle he’d have to block from meant he couldn’t plan beyond that. He made a snap decision.

With a noise somewhere between a grunt and a roar he launched himself into to air to aim a falling kick at Zarbon’s head, a reckless move that only had the merit of not being what Zarbon expected. His opponent was indeed surprised but recovered himself quickly enough to step out of the way of the rapidly descending Vegeta, who was now well within his range. The melee recommenced and Vegeta, determined not to hear any more of Zarbon’s ridiculous gossip, left him very little opportunity to speak, keeping up a barrage of punches. He was so furious in fact that he hadn’t noticed that Zarbon was beginning to give ground; whilst still maintaining his demeanor of calm superiority, Zarbon was nevertheless being pushed back inch by inch.

His new advantage still unnoticed, Vegeta began to strike for damage, for once trusting to luck over strategy. Zarbon was faster and stronger but his stamina, so little tested, was not equal to Vegeta’s and as the Saiyan continued his unrelenting assault Zarbon’s defences began to fracture until finally he misjudged a parry and Vegeta’s fist wound between Zarbon’s raised forearms and struck true.

In truth both combatants were equally surprised. Zarbon staggered back and Vegeta allowed him to, withdrawing into a cautious defensive stance. Zarbon was turned sideways, sheltering his face in one graceful hand, the fingers shaking with suppressed rage. Vegeta could see the burst blood vessels marring Zarbon’s perfect skin even through that thin veil. After some moments Zarbon lowered his hand and set his glare squarely at Vegeta. That he was offended was undoubtable, but where there ought to have been self-reproach for his incautious approach there was only loathing for Vegeta.

“How dare you.” Zarbon growled, further incensed by hearing how cliched his own words sounded out loud. “How  _ dare you, monkey _ !”

On the last syllables Vegeta could hear a sudden change in his tone, coupled with a distinct bulging of all his physical attributes. For a moment Zarbon looked like he was bubbling out of himself, but Vegeta knew better. He had seen enemies perform transformation before and knew with sudden certainty what he was about to witness.

“ _ I’ll show you! You’ve only seen my nice side up to now! _ ”

Vegeta might have commented on the juvenile threat were his attention not entirely transfixed on Zarbon’s rapidly changing features. First his straight teeth began to elongate into sharp points, then his lips extruded outwards and sideways until his pretty mouth better resembled a muzzle. His smooth skin, in which he took great pride, began to bubble like the surface of a simmering pot which settled as a persistent mottling and scaling all over. His finely pencilled eyes bulged like a frog’s while his unlined brow pushed out to hang over them. His armour stretched around his new bulk as his arms, shoulders, legs and torso all expanded with sudden muscularity. Even his voice grew guttural and animalistic to match his outside. His transformation was completed quickly and where moments before had stood a handsome, unruffled, princely figure there now hulked a monstrous, lizard-like creature in his place.

Now it was Zarbon’s turn to attack. Like Vegeta he didn’t stand on ceremony, instead laying into the Saiyan as pointedly as he had just done. The difference here was that where Zarbon had the strength to deflect the majority of Vegeta’s swift jabs Zarbon’s new form was a torrent of solid, defense breaking strikes. Each punch was a battering ram, which he either blocked at great cost to his arms or took to the torso. He was only able to negate the damage from the first handful of strikes, each of which forced him backward several inches, before his arms were too battered to hold up and he was without defence. Seeing his opponent’s stamina falter Zarbon took a savouring moment then stepped in with a punch to the gut that knocked the breath from Vegeta’s lungs, doubling him over his fist. He shouldered Vegeta back into a standing position and thrust his other fist into the Saiyan’s undefended face.

Vegeta was blinded. His remaining eye was a storm of pain and flashing lights, and he could barely lift his arms to wipe the blood out of it. The fight was over and they both knew it.

“Out of bounds.” Zarbon declared, his voice once again melodious. From that Vegeta surmised that he had also returned to his normal physical shape. He ventured to crack open his eye and discovered that Zarbon was indeed back to his usual self, and that his face was alarmingly close to his.

“Do you see now, monkey?” He hissed humorlessly. “You can fight, and posture, and bully as many soldiers as you please but you will  _ always  _ be worthless in the face of a true elite. You are nothing. You came from nothing and you will always  _ be _ nothing and nothing you ever do will change that you stupid, embarrassing filth.”

The last thing Vegeta remembered after that was Zarbon’s fist in his hair and his face hitting the solid metal wall prosthetic-first.

 

*   *   *

 

The floor was warm where his face had been pressing against it. How long he’d been lying there he didn’t know but it couldn’t have been very long, judging from the lack of concerned attendants in the training room. He opened his eye tentatively but reflexively squeezed it shut against the sudden stabbing pain from even that low light. His stomach lurched and if he’d had the energy he might have heaved. His face was hot and painful and he was just about able to shift his head so that he could find relief from a cooler section of the floor tiles. He held his breath against the wave of nausea that head movement cost him.

Slowly he took control. First, he forced himself himself to be aware of his body and its status - what hurt, where, how and why? He let the pain wash over him, let it flood his body even as he mentally compartmentalized it and distanced himself from it. Pain, he reminded himself, is just the body’s unsophisticated way of submitting a damage report. Pain existed only in the mind and he who masters the mind masters his pain. He reminded himself of his fight with Cui. That pain had far surpassed this. 

He gritted his teeth and pushed himself up into a sitting position, which was the hardest part. His legs, he noted, were largely unscatched, although his armour was cracked beyond repair. After checking himself over and deciding that the damage at least below the neck was negligible he rose gingerly to his feet. The low light still hurt his eye but the initial shock of it had passed and he was able to move about with minimal difficulty beyond his protesting muscles.

The only place he found blood was his face, where he was least able to hide it. There was a shallow gash where the side of his head had hit the wall and the skin had split, and his eye was red with evidence of ruptured blood vessels all around the orbital bone. He knew he hadn’t been long unconscious because the bruises were yet to form but the sullen redness of the skin foretold their arrival; his face would be black and blue within a few hours. He cursed Zarbon as he examined himself in the training room mirrors. Through the whole fight the man had put the majority of his strength into attacking Vegeta’s body, avoiding his previous injury as a courteous sparring partner would, but he couldn’t resist at the very end rubbing salt into that wound. He wondered if this would put back the scouter fitting.

He would have to leave the training room eventually, he decided to do so before the bruises became apparent. The blood he wiped off with his glove as best he could and strode out into the gym with a confidence he didn’t feel. Some of the soldiers there glanced up as he appeared among them but they quickly found other things to look at. He glanced at the time on his way out, confirming his own estimates, and headed for Si’eth’s lab. It would be abandoned at this time. He could treat his own injuries there in peace.

 

* * *

 

 

Ala was true to her word in guiding Bulma back through the compound. She’d eaten a small supper in the hangar provided by Ala, and stashing her maintenance worker robes inside her tunic she made her way back to more familiar ground. More than once at Ala’s suggestion she changed route, making the journey far less straightforward than it should have been, but her last night-time corridor encounter was at the front of her memory as she nervously clutched at the bundled robe under her tunic and followed the instructions. She hadn’t forgotten that traumatic event, and though she wouldn’t allow it to define her or affect her decisions she still felt her stomach tense uncomfortably whenever she saw another denizen.

The latest amendment to her journey was taking her towards Si’eth’s lab. She turned the corner that led to the lab and was relieved to see no other souls between her and the next. Her relief was short-lived, however, as she observed that the lab, which should have been deserted, was occupied. Someone had turned on the lights.

Her step faltered as she approached, though she tried to tell herself it was just Si’eth come to do a late evening check or catch up on some work. It might even just be maintenance workers running late, or one of her other labmates picking up a forgotten item. She could think of a hundred harmless reasons for the lab to be in use at this hour, but still she couldn’t shake the anxiety that gnawed at her as she crept forward.

_ Keep walking.  _ Ala’s suggestion was gentle but she didn’t feel reassured. She didn’t believe Ala to be infallible, besides which they weren’t always in harmony about what constituted danger, or indeed duty. All the same there was only one way forward and she took it grudgingly, taking the opportunity as she did so to glance in through the windowed door. She halted in confusion.

Vegeta was in there, and from the look of him he’d been in some kind of fight too. His armour was shattered in several places and his body suit torn and bloody. His fists looked like he’d used them to block a tractor even with the tattered gloves and that was before she got to his face, which was showing the early purpling of severe bruises. His brow was cut and bleeding into his good eye, which he absentmindedly wiped away with his gloved hand. He did so gingerly, as if the touch pained him. She heard Ala whisper at her to keep moving but she couldn’t. She made a decision.

She was aware of Ala riding lightly in her mind, and after having been on the receiving end of a block she knew instinctively how to do it. She pushed Ala out and threw up mental barriers around herself, something Ala had been trying to teach her to do but for far different reasons. She felt, as she did so, Ala’s displeasure but it was far away now. She didn’t want to have Ala’s judgement right now.

Vegeta’s head snapped up with the wariness of a wounded animal as she quietly opened the door and slipped into the lab. He clearly had not expected nor wanted company, and she couldn’t keep the concern from her face as she looked first at him then the open first aid kit on the counter before him. She stepped forward cautiously.

“What happened? Are you ok?”

“What are you doing here?” He snapped back. “I thought I told you never to be out late on your own?”

She was taken aback that he even remembered that conversation. “I ...yeah, you did but ...well I needed to go somewhere.”

“Like back to your dormitory.” He said with a finality that invited no argument. If she were anyone else she would have turned tail and fled, but Bulma would not be so easily intimidated.

“You’re hurt.” She said flatly. “Let me help.”

“I don’t require your assistance.”

She took a few more steps forward.

“You say that, but you need biometric authorisation to get the useful shit.” She gestured at the first aid box. “That crap is for papercuts.”

“I don’t need your help.” He repeated stubbornly. Bulma ignored him, her fear leaving her as she saw through his brittle bravado. She knew how to deal with spoilt brats, after all she’d always been one.

“Whatever, your highness. Now gimme a second, I’ll get Si’eth’s kit.”

He stared at her as she took control of herself and marched fearlessly past him to the other side of the lab, humming as she unlocked the storage cupboard that contained the “useful shit” with her thumbprint. It slid open and she retrieved from it a series of containers, taking the opportunity as she did so to discreetly divest herself of her maintenance robe.

“Your face is gonna be the colour of Freeza’s horns by morning if you don’t treat those injuries properly.” She curtly informed him. “And that’s just your face, I’ll need to see the rest of you.”

“Absolutely not. I order you to return to your-”

“Order-schmorder, I’m not leaving you alone in here to mess up my lab.” She put her handful of boxes down on the counter next to his and turned to face him. “If you want to stop me then you’ll have to try harder than that, because I know someone who needs help when I see them. You don’t know the first thing about using any of this equipment.”

They glared at each other long enough that Bulma began to think he wouldn’t cave, then something seemed to give within him.

“Fine.” He glanced at the windowed door. “Take these things into the operating room.”

He didn’t need to tell her that he didn’t want to be seen alone with her. For what reason she wasn’t sure, as it seemed men on this planet took as much public glory in the conquest of women as on Earth, but she conceded. It was easier to work in there anyway.

“And woman,” he added as he turned towards the operating room, “if you breath a word of this - to  _ anyone _ \- I will personally see to it that you leave my protection. You’ll be cleaning toilets with the rest of the slave class -  _ at best _ . Do you understand?”

She made a disparaging noise as she picked up boxes and tidied away the first aid kit he’d already attempted to dissemble. “As if  _ I’d  _ want this to be public knowledge. It was bad enough after you-”

She stopped talking abruptly, hoping he hadn’t caught her allusion. It hardly mattered anyway, as he ignored her completely on his way into the operating room. She sighed, even as she felt Ala testing the mental walls she’d erected. It was going to be an even longer night.

He held the door open for her, more as a cue for her to get a move on than as any sort of chivalrous gesture. She thanked him anyway on her way in and gestured towards his usual seat.

“Take that armour off.” She ordered him. “I need to see what I’m working with.”

He was speechless, and appeared somewhat offended as he stood holding the door open.

“Did I stutter? Come on, I gotta have a look under there. Get on the chair and whip that off.” She gestured again impatiently. “The later I get back to the dorms the more questions I’m gonna have to answer and I’m sure you don’t want that.”

She saw she’d hit a nerve there, and with a sideways glare he acquiesced. He perched on the side of the operating chair and struggled out of his ruined armour.

“Yeah, and the jumpsuit, Einstein.” She added irritably. She wondered if he’s ever been addressed in such a way by any medical staff.

“The suit is ...fitted.” He replied, uncomfortably.

“It’s also ripped to shit. Just tear it off, at least to the waist.” She replied pragmatically.

He hesitated a moment, but gingerly began to pull down the neckline of his bodysuit, revealing to both of them the blue and purple hues that were developing over his impressive torso. She looked him over critically, and was almost panicked to feel a blush rising to her cheeks. He was a mess of course, battered beyond reason, but she couldn’t help but concede the perfect marriage of beauty and functionality in his half-naked form. She hadn’t seen a man so tightly built since Goku, though he didn’t have the advantage of her girlhood friend’s tall stature. In fact the last time she’d so much as glimpsed a naked male torso was back on Earth. She thought suddenly and plaintively of her sweet Yamcha, but she decidedly pushed aside that bittersweet memory.

“So.” She said more gently, turning her back to him as she prepared her equipment. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

“I was training.” He growled at her back.

“Of course, silly me.” She picked a few choice bottles and stood them on the counter, then headed to the chiller. “You were obviously training your thick skull, judging from that shiner.”

“What’s a shiner?” He asked, in spite of himself.

“A black eye?” She responded, incredulous at his ignorance of human idioms. “The bruises around your orbital bone. On Earth we call that a shiner.”

His only reply was to snort and turn away.

“What kind of training, then?” She pressed him.

“None of your business.”

“I saw you fight in the arena and I  _ know _ they don’t make a machine that can do this kind of damage to someone like you.” She bit back, turning to face him. “Someone did this to you. I’m not stupid.”

“I had a sparring partner, that is all. I may have…” he considered his words carefully, “I may have lost my focus somewhat.”

Bulma said nothing, but approached him with an ice pack. She put it on his face without asking and suppressed a smile at how that startled him. “This will reduce the bruising. I assume you’d like to minimise the evidence as much as possible?”

He nodded slightly, glaring out from under the ice pack.

“Hold it, please.”

He did as he was told and held the ice pack to the side of his head, leaving him a slim line of sight on her. She leaned forward and placed a hand on his badly bruised chest.

“What are you doing?” He hissed, jerking away.

“Looking, for Kami’s sake!”

“Look with your damned eyes, woman.”

“Oh will you get over yourself?” She snapped, meeting his gaze squarely.

“You’re one to talk.” He snapped back, dropping the ice in his anger. “You waltz about this place like you own it, careless of your own good in your arrogant over-estimation of your value. You talk down to your betters and openly disdain that which you do not understand, when you’re not throwing dangerous insubordination at your director, that is.”

“You mean you?” She could feel her temper rising, and though she tried to quash it she couldn’t help but lean forward, hands on her hips, to meet his aggressive glare. “What did you tell me once? ‘We’re all slaves here’. You act all high and mighty but here you are, going grape coloured after getting the beating of your life and you want to lecture  _ me _ about being careful? And where do you get off taking  _ my _ untested prototype into that kind of danger anyway? We haven’t stress tested it yet - which you  _ know _ because  _ I  _ know you’ve read my reports! Put that ice back, this instant!”

He complied without even thinking, slapping the ice back onto his face. She allowed herself a small smile and turned back to the ointments. His torso was pretty badly beaten, and there was nothing in a bottle that could fix that, but she could minimise the symptoms with Si’eth’s equipment. She slipped on a pair of gloves and selected a large container, more box than bottle, and uncapped it. It hissed and emitted a cold grey gas.

“Ok, this needs to adjust to room temperature for a minute. In the meantime,” she turned to face him, “you need to let me poke you a bit.”

“Why?”

“Cuz I gotta see if there’s anything broken. And if there is you’re going into a healing pod, got it?”

“Nothing is broken, yet.” He growled.

She ignored him and placed one hand very carefully on his torso, cringing when he flinched at the touch. Aside from the difficulties inherent in trying, with limited medical knowledge, to treat someone who didn’t care to be touched, she couldn’t help but wonder how this perfectly intelligent man had become so intolerant of basic social interaction. She held her breath and began to press the skin where she had touched him, looking for tender spots.

“I need you to tell me when this hurts. You can just nod if you prefer.”

She took his silence for agreement and continued, carefully prodding the tender flesh, especially where his bruises were beginning to appear. The muscles of his jaw tightened with every application of pressure, and she was on the verge of losing her temper at his inability to communicate when he squeezed his eye shut and nodded curtly.

“There?” She asked gently, earning another nod. She reached for the canister that she’d left to acclimate. “This stuff is great. It’ll keep the surface temperature low enough to help minimize the bruising, but it’s just a surface layer so you can keep it under your clothing.”

“Which reminds me, what was it you had hidden in your tunic, woman?”

“What do you mean?” She forced herself to reply, trying to ooze casual innocence.

“Back there in the lab.” He nodded his head toward the door, a gesture that cost him some amount of pain judging from his wince. “When you got these supplies. You had something under your tunic, then it was gone. I can only presume that you’ve taken to stealing. It would also explain why you’re up so late.”

“Then you presume wrongly.” She wiped a sanitized cloth over his abdomen with her free hand, pushing perhaps slightly harder than was necessary on the tenderest parts. “I’ll have you know that we females have many uses for rags and old cloth and I was rescuing a maintenance robe from the incinerator.”

She could feel his eyes boring into her but she refused to meet them, choosing instead to concentrate on the work in hand. She didn’t dare to hope that he believed her, in fact she forced herself not to think about it at all. Instead she upended the canister onto the cloth in her hand and unceremoniously smeared the smoking gel that issued from within it onto Vegeta. He inhaled sharply.

“Have a care, woman!” He hissed.

“Sorry, I suppose I should have warned you that the thing I told you was cold  _ would be cold _ .” She countered.

“Well, I-” He paused, processing her words, “just a little more warning next time would be expedient. And for Heaven’s sake will you learn to control your tongue?”

She covered the chilled area with a large self-adhesive pad. 

“I don’t know why you’re getting so upset, Vegeta.” She opened a different box and rummaged in it for bandages. “It is literally just you and me here. I think we’ve been dealing with each other long enough to know that you’re not gonna kill me, and I’m not exactly any threat to you, so can we just, at least for this brief time that we’re stuck with each other’s company,  _ try _ to not be dicks to one another?”

There was silence as she finally met his eye. His bloodied brow furrowed against this new, unsettling thought as his eyes wandered to her clever hands unrolling a length of bandage. At length he spoke.

“Never in public may you address me so bluntly. I tolerate it currently because frankly my energy is spent.”

She couldn’t help but laugh, a genuine chuckle that confused but did not offend him. “Good enough, I suppose. Now lift that arm - if you can - and hold this please. I don’t want this patch falling off while you’re sleeping.”

 

* * *

 

 

Back in his room, and finally free from her laughing eyes, Vegeta scrutinised the woman’s work approvingly in the sole mirror that had survived there. She was no medic, that much she had told him herself as she’d nervously threaded a needle. Truth be told there were several options on that counter that would have far surpassed the archaic stitches she applied but something stopped him from trying to correct her. He convinced himself that he merely didn’t want to embarrass himself in the event that he couldn’t instruct her in the correct usage of those utensils. All the same she had done tidy work, disinfecting, closing and bandaging his various wounds.

The sensation of her cool hands holding his burning face could not be persuaded to leave him.

She’d stitched him up after bandaging the cooling compress on his abdomen. She’d also applied several smaller compresses to other particularly battered areas and especially his forearms, which she’d been particularly distressed to see. He had to admit that they were a magnificent array of colours. The compress was amazing, he decided. He could feel the coolness against his skin, and though it didn’t quite match the performance of an ice pack the cold certainly held its temperature longer and was much more discrete.

She’d chattered the whole time. He’d never met someone so talkative. She asked him myriad questions which, after his unsuccessful attempts to put her in her place, he grudgingly answered. It was his own fault, he knew, having given her too much attention in the lab on a handful of occasions he now couldn’t dissuade her from trying to socialize him.

But that was not his main concern. He now had to face what he had been ignoring for the past half an hour in the hopes that it would go away and he wouldn’t have to deal with what it signified.

There was no mistaking that he was - at least partially - erect.

It had been long enough ago that his memory of enduring this sensation was blurry at best, and it was now as unwelcome as it was unfamiliar. He knew the mechanics of it, and was utterly disgusted with himself that a touch as unconnected with his reproductive system as hers had been still triggered that response. She had barely touched him.

As she’d been finishing her work, she’d put both hands on his face and tipped his head back to get more light. As she examined him with her eyes she seemed to give no mind to her idle hands, and in that unguarded moment he had known what it was to be caressed, and to enjoy it.

The merest stroking of her thumbs against his jawline, and even her light fingertip touch behind and below his ear, had sent a thrilling bolt that shot down his spine and warmed his lap. And then, cruelly it seemed to him, she continued, her thumbs tracing gentle circles on his cheeks while her eyes roamed over his face with a concern that he hadn’t seen since ...that he had never seen. Her face was so close to his.

She’d spoken candidly throughout the procedure, and her conversation wound seamlessly - and tirelessly - between the pragmatic and the personal. He learned more about her in a mere hour than he ever could from reading her file, from how she had learned to patch up the warriors on her planet to her avid consumption of medical science publications. She would drop in the odd probing question, designed to extract information from him and damn her to hell he had fallen for a few of them. But he couldn’t help himself, she was so unlike anyone he’d ever met.

When she spoke she was so  _ real _ , so authentic. She was unmistakably herself and no-one’s puppet. He found himself comparing her to those he knew by name and found they came up wanting. Compared to this vibrant, confident woman everyone of his acquaintance was a clockwork automaton, mere dolls with pre-programmed words and gestures, himself included. The thought made him nauseous again.

His saving grace was that he was almost certain she hadn’t noticed. As soon as he’d realised what his body was doing he’d pressed his legs together and leant forward slightly, under the pretence of giving her better access to his face. She gave no indication that she noticed anything beyond her work.

If his body had betrayed him first, his mind had shortly followed. What would happen if he were to simply lean a little further forward, he began to wonder. Would she flee? Would she stay? Where else might those hands stir his skin to such sensation?

Vegeta shook his head, trying to clear his mind of her touch, both remembered and imagined, and turned away from the looking glass.  _ Bed _ , he thought,  _ sleep _ . He found his bed and lay his weary head down.


	9. Appetites

 

_ The reason why they they could not simply destroy the planet along with its infection had not been made known to Vegeta, but he was by now so used to Freeza and his whims that he could barely summon the energy to care. Suffice to say, this planet was valuable enough to his lordship that even a known resistance uprising was not enough justification to end it entirely, so Vegeta and his crew now engaged in surgery. _

_ He led the charge personally. He was still new to this crew and exhibited the values he was raised with as a Saiyan warrior, that to lead men of strength one had to prove his mettle on the field to them as much as to their enemy. It was also not lost on the crew that he had fronted all of their missions against the resistance so far. _

_ The rebels fought bravely, as he’d come to expect, but as with every base he’d thus far annihilated the defences were not on par with those he’d first encountered, either in terms of fighters or equipment. The men and women he killed exhibited discipline and even good training but little raw strength to support those virtues, and the weapons were the same pathetic blasters used by his own men. He had yet to encounter a second instance of the weaponry that took half his sight from him. _

_ There was a parasitic nature to the resistance. It was estimated that all Freeza’s bases, planets and ships contained at least one rebel, who communicated by unknown means to a central body that coordinated their manoeuvres. No single member of the organisation knew all the other members of their cell, and frequently multiple cleansings of the same crew or base had to be performed. Once a cell took hold those ‘loyal’ to Freeza were slowly replaced or converted until only resistance members remained. The cell would then continue to operate within Freeza’s administration, feeding information back to their HQ and sabotaging his expansion where possible. Once discovered cells were quick to disperse and so Vegeta had learned to be quick in their elimination. This mission was no exception, and he calculated that barely a quarter of the personnel required to run this base adequately still remained. Someone in Freeza’s administration was informing the resistance. _

_ He sliced through a defensive barrier and stepped aside to let his men spill through it, which they did with enthusiastic violence. He followed them, keeping his hand close to his scouter at all times, snapping directions to the squadron commanders. The fighting was over quickly. _

_ Vegeta moved through the compound, surveying the wreckage as he went. What few survivors remained he ordered restrained and prepped for transport. They never talked, but he would still try to make them. He was on the verge of giving the order to leave when one of the trussed prisoners caught his eye, an adolescent female whose species he was unfamiliar with. The girl glared at him with undisguised hatred, a look he held and returned. It was so like the resistance, to include even raw children in their suicidal machinations. She would know nothing of value at her age; not even a rebel would trust such a child with important information, and now she would suffer immeasurably before dying decades before her time in spite of that. _

_ His face twinged with the familiar pain of his scars, and he steeled himself. He turned away, no longer concerned with her fate. _

 

* * *

 

 

The light was poor, so she tipped his head back, like the last time. Only she couldn’t quite remember the last time. Was his face his badly beaten before?

At least he had two eyes now. Although now she found herself trying to decide which eye to stare into. They were both so piercing, and the more he stared the more she wanted to stare back.

As she turned his face this way and that she decided that the wounds that had seemed so grievous moments ago were trivial cuts that would mend themselves, but for the sake of having made him take to the chair she would at least give them a clean. She reached dutifully for the gauze.

He was still staring.

She became suddenly aware of his hands. He wasn’t actively touching her per se, but his thumbs brushed against her hips. She was stood between his open legs, and his hands on his knees were in the perfect position to grasp her if he chose to, but he didn’t. She wondered why he didn’t. She wanted him to.

She was dabbing at his face with witch hazel now, still staring into the black pools of his dark, handsome eyes. She tipped his head further back so that he had to move his hands to lean his weight on them. It was then an easy thing to lean over him and press her crotch against his.

She heard his intake of breath. Finally, she thought.

She wasn’t sure at what point she’d kissed him, but she was on her back now, his lips locked on hers as he kissed her like a man dying of thirst quenching himself in an oasis. She hooked her legs around the back of his and pulled his hips against her, the bulge of his erection sending a thrill up her middle.

_ Wait a minute _ , she thought suddenly,  _ how long has he had two eyes? _

The spell was broken and the dream melted away as Bulma opened her eyes in the darkness of her dormitory. She could hear the steady breathing of her roommates as they slumbered peacefully. As she struggled in her sleep-drunken state to untangle the confused threads of dream and reality a horrifying realisation slowly dawned on her.

_ Oh Gods. _

She took a shuddering breath and closed her eyes again, shifting her position in bed as if that somehow could help her shift her mind away from the possibility that... no, it was a dream; even if throughout it all she’d felt the fire that hadn’t touched her since long before her abduction; and even if she could still easily recall the visceral sensation his slightest touch had ignited within her imaginary flesh; and even if she couldn’t quite suppress the disappointment that it had ended... it was still just a dream, she told herself again more forcefully. Dreams don’t have to make sense.

So why, she wondered, was her stomach still turning somersaults at the thought of being kissed by him?

 

*   *   *

 

The lab door hissed open. Bulma kept her head down, trying to focus on her work. She’d thrown herself into work to try to dispell her discomfort but despite the late hour she hadn’t yet managed to overcome the personal embarrassment of her night-time fantasy. If Vegeta was coming to inspect then she had no intention of meeting his eye.

“Ala, how nice to see you.”

She heard Si’eth’s emphatic greeting and her head snapped up in time to see, not her patient of the previous evening, but her former overseer outlined in the doorway. Ala had given her no forewarning and she could now sense, despite her serene outer appearance, that she suppressed great anger.

“Si’eth, it is good to see you too.” She inclined her head to him and gracefully flowed into the room. “How goes your work?”

Bulma would have eavesdropped more closely on their polite conversation, as they waxed on the minutia of their separate projects and lamented the detailed reports they were each yet to file that evening, but was hardly able to as Ala forced her way into her mind.

_ What you did was unwise. _

_ Ala, I- _

_ No. Do not reply. You are to listen. I know what you did, and if I hadn’t erased the security footage there would have been a chance that everybody in the compound would have known too. I know why you shut off our connection. Mark me, child, what you pursue will only bring you pain, and perhaps worse. You know very well what I’m referring to. _

Unbidden by her images of her fantasy dalliance flickered through her mind’s eye and she cringed, knowing she couldn’t keep Ala out of her thoughts at this proximity.

_ Indeed. _

For a while there was silence and Bulma waited, anxiety gnawing on her insides.

_ I don’t say this to hurt you. _ This came more gently, and with a touch of uncertainty on Ala’s part.  _ I’m sure you mean no harm. I wish only to protect you. Please, please child do not look to replace the ocean of love you have lost with a shallow draught of poison. _

Somehow, and Bulma was too affronted to tell how it had been done, Ala had lifted to the forefront of her mind the image of Yamcha’s smiling face, and made her recall the gentle touch of his calloused hand stroking her face. Bulma was ashamed to feel tears prick her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. His voice, always warm and jovial; his smile; his assurances that she was the only woman for him.

The inconsistency; the fact he could never seem to stand up to her, even when they both knew she was wrong; the way he would flee when she was unreasonable; how all she really wanted was for him to stay and fight for her instead; how he thought flowers and simpering after the fact could gloss over his inability to challenge her-

_ That’s quite enough. If you won’t let me help you in this then I have no more to say on the matter. I will see you tonight at the usual place and time. _

Bulma seethed, and allowed unguarded the memory of their time together in the hangar to flow out to Ala. She made especially sure to emphasize Ala’s instruction to her regarding gaining the Saiyan’s favour.

_ I said enough! Such a dangerous fraternization was not what I meant by that and you know it! _

Bulma snorted out loud. Si’eth glanced her way and she busied herself, pretending to merely disdain the work between her shaking hands. She noted with grim satisfaction that Ala had severed their connection and was making her goodbyes to Si’eth.

“A very pleasant lady.” Si’eth remarked to Bulma after she had left. “Wasn’t she your overseer before me?”

“Yeah, she was.” Bulma forced herself to keep her tone level.

“Huh. Odd that she didn’t come over to say hello.”

“Oh, Ala is just like that sometimes.” She shrugged nonchalantly, thinking that Ala hadn’t kept her cool as well as she thought.

“Still,” he pondered, “she always seemed fond of you. She spoke very highly of you when you were under her care.”

Bulma felt a pang of guilt at his words. The anger that had flared up so quickly simmered into guilt almost as swiftly. Had anyone else looked out for her like Ala did? She tried not to remember Vegeta standing over her, the body of a wasted soldier smoking mere feet away. That was different, she told herself firmly, though she couldn’t quite at that moment pinpoint why.

She hated that the memory had made her blush.

 

* * *

 

 

Vegeta had woken up that morning feeling hungry. More than hungry, he was ravenous. As a younger man he wouldn’t have thought twice about it, giving free rein to his passions as and when they arose, but for so long now the act of putting fuel in his body had been regarded as a tiresome chore. He couldn’t remember the last time he had craved something. He washed and dressed hurriedly, always being careful around his new injuries. His inevitable headache was only a shadow of what he’d expected.

He didn’t relish the thought of leaving his rooms, having caught a glance at his face in the glass of the shower door, but it couldn’t be helped. If he sought solitude now Zarbon would know he was licking his wounds. His long dormant pride sparked angrily at the thought. If all and sundry had to see his split brow and bruised orbital then so be it, he would cower for no-one.

So with the determination that often accompanies an empty stomach Vegeta emerged into the cold light of Freeza’s compound and directed his steps towards the Officers’ mess.

It was his usual habit to take a seat and be served a meal by one of the attendants there, but before he had even seen the double doored entrance the smell of cooking food assailed his senses. The alien foods that were variously considered ‘breakfast’ were in varying states of preparedness and his pace quickened slightly. He knew the smells, he was here most mornings after all, but he’d not paid attention to them in years. Now he inhaled lungfuls of air just for the sensation of it. He made his way to the queue.

It was still very early and only a handful of early risers were waiting, but as soon as they saw who was bearing down on them - and in what condition - they stepped aside respectfully. Assuming it was some social protocol to give way to someone of his rank he gave them only the tiniest nod of acknowledgement as he took his place at the front of the line. The server piled up plates as per his requests.

He took what he could carry sensibly himself and the rest followed via another server. His banquet thus prepared he pulled out his data module to begin working through that day’s itinerary, but before he had finished reading the first report he found himself putting it to one side. Every bite was commanding his attention thoroughly. It was all he could do to maintain his table manners, something he only ever bothered with while stationed at HQ.

The woman still haunted his thoughts.

Enjoying a satiation that had eluded him for many years, he caught up on his reports on his way to his various labs, in some cases having to intentionally slow his walking speed to avoid arriving before he’d finished reading. None of the overseers were brave enough to enquire about his face but one or two had the guts to ask after his general health. Their solicitude irked him because it reminded him again of yesterday’s humiliating defeat.

He didn’t visit Si’eth’s lab. Firstly because he didn’t need to, and secondly because he wasn’t quite prepared to face the Earthling. He replayed in his mind perhaps a hundred times their encounter the previous night and every time cursed himself. He was too familiar with her, too tolerating and yes - damn it all - he finally had to admit to himself that he found her company enjoyable. And there was something about the warm-hearted and yet totally casual way she took his medical care upon herself that made him wonder.

Then he saw his own image reflected back at him from a polished lab surface and crushed the speculation.

As he emerged from one of his labs a brown-robed worker narrowly avoided barrelling into him. The little alien scuttled off apologising profusely, but it reminded Vegeta of something the woman had said about her sequestered maintenance robe.

_ We females have many uses for rags and old cloth. _

His knowledge of female particulars was not comprehensive, and he was not aware of what provision was made for female workers’ needs, but he was certain that anything she considered worth prowling the corridors for after hours was valuable indeed. He suddenly found that the idea of her traversing the compound at night on her own made him very uncomfortable. He would have to do something about that.

 

* * *

 

 

The usual place and time was Ala’s laboratory after evening meals, when most other workers were passing their limited leisure time in the recreational facilities. Bulma was nervous to say the least as she quietly slipped into her dorms to don her maintenance robe under her researcher’s tunic.

Would Ala still be openly angry with her? Would she instead revert to coldness? Perhaps she’d ignore the situation entirely and focus on the work, which Bulma wasn’t certain she’d like any better. What she was certain that she didn’t like was not knowing, so she didn’t dawdle long.

When Bulma arrived Ala was alone, and to any outside observer was inspecting equipment. She looked up as Bulma entered and greeted her, if not warmly, at least without hostility.

“My child, thank you for coming.” She spread her hands in an open gesture.

“Of course, what else could I do?” Bulma replied cautiously.

“You wonder why we speak in the common way, don’t you?”

Bulma shrugged, “It’s not your usual modus operandi, so yeah.”

“Since seeing you earlier I have taken advice, and I believe I may have been unfair to you on some points.” Ala admitted. When Bulma didn’t reply to this unexpected overture with anything other than a shocked expression she continued. “It was of course I who told you to garner goodwill from you overseer and director, and did not specify how or within what boundary you were to do that. I remember very clearly, but the shock of feeling you push me out to go serve our enemy gave me a fright. I was concerned that you might do something that would harm our interests, for why else would you shut me out?”

She kept Bulma’s gaze steadily as she spoke. It was clear to Bulma that this speech had been considered and rehearsed, but it was also spoken with sincerity.

“I have been further informed that those who are not born with our skills find it difficult to perform delicate social interactions while connected, and that your withdrawal from me was necessary in order for you to engage the Saiyan without giving us away. Nevertheless I feared for you. As such I have decided that to discuss this matter in a way that is fair to you we ought to use your native tools of communication. When we are connected it is hard for you to hide your feelings from me, but when you have time to consider your words in spoken discourse I believe you will be better equipped to order your responses.”

“That makes sense, I guess.” Bulma ventured warily. “But I don’t know what it is you want me to tell you.”

“We could start with last night. Is it as I have said, did you close your mind to me because you needed to concentrate?”

“I closed my mind because I was afraid you’d try to stop me.” Bulma said, surprised at her own honesty. “I had to know what he was doing in there and then when I saw how hurt he was ...I had to help him. And yes, even if I weren’t afraid of what you’d think, I wouldn’t have been able to focus on what I needed to do if you were riding my brain the whole time. So to an extent, yes, that’s why I pushed you out.”

Ala pondered a moment, taking a small turn about the room as she did so. “I worry about your investment in Captain Vegeta.”

“I can handle it.” Bulma asserted.

She looked at her again with those deep eyes. “I hope so, because if you misstep with him he will kill you, and all this will be for naught.”

It was not the first time that Ala had warned her he was capable of it, and Bulma knew she should believe her, but she just didn’t. Last night she had seen another side of him. They had talked almost the whole time, or he at least had listened while she did, and even when he raised his voice to admonish her he never threatened to do her any harm. His occasional witty response to her discourse as the night wore on gave her slim insights into his mind and she knew, intuitively, that she’d affected him. She thought he seemed more comfortable than before, and by the end of the evening he’d stopped flinching at every touch.

His skin had been smooth and warm. She could still feel the tautness of his muscles under her hands.

“I’m too useful.” Bulma said out loud, wrenching her mind away from that alarming remembrance. “As long as I’m useful I think I’m safe.”

Ala said nothing, but seemed to accept her words.

“And I promise you I’m not trying to, uh, what did you say about oceans and poison?” This elicited a genuine laugh and Bulma continued. “I understand why you’re worried and in a way you’re right. I do feel sorry for the guy, and yeah it wasn’t smart to get myself noticed the way I did, and alright I’ve been maybe going a bit beyond the call of duty to help him, but it’s not what you’re thinking. I’m starting to like him for himself rather than out of pity, but no more than that. I promise you.”

“And your dreams last night?”

_ Well,  _ thought Bulma,  _ honesty is the best policy. _

“I saw the man topless, and it’s been a while.” She tried to grin rakishly, as if inappropriate fantasies about men who’d abducted her and forced her into slavery were just an endearing quirk and nothing out the ordinary. To her relief Ala laughed again.

“Randomly firing neurons during your REM cycle would also have been an acceptable answer.” She replied. “But thank you for your honesty.”

Bulma shrugged again with a smiled and rubbed the back of her neck. What now?

“Bulma, I  _ am _ sorry, you know. If I haven’t made that clear yet then I am.” She shook her head. “Our work is more important than anything, including our own lives, but despite all that I’ve grown fond of you and your interminable spirit. I truly believe your genius could save lives. I have bigger plans for you than you know, and to think for a moment that you’d throw all that away for ...well, I overreacted. I am always angry, you know.”

Bulma did  _ not _ know. Ala had always seemed an ocean of calm to her and she said as much.

_ Of course I appear calm, it has been the study of a lifetime to ensure that. But you have to understand, I was just an adolescent when they came and plundered my home. Our government immediately caved to their demands when they saw the depth of Freeza’s powerful cruelty. When they demanded the children as tribute many resisted, my parents included, and were killed. My siblings and I were taken here, and here I have worked my entire life to reach a position where I can be of use to the resistance and always, always I feel the deepest rage imaginable at the loss of my people.  _ Ala sat down heavily, and Bulma could see the effort it cost her to keep her emotions in check. She was grateful, as Ala was protecting her from feeling her grief second-hand through their connection, but at the same time she felt selfish.

_ Please, do not feel uneasy. This is my sorrow to bear, we all have our own and I don’t want to share mine. I still have my siblings, they are scattered about Freeza’s organisation. That is how we’re always able to relay information throughout the resistance without detection, or had you not wondered? _

Bulma put a hand awkwardly on Ala’s knee. She said nothing and hoped her empathy was expressed in that gesture.

“Enough of this.” Ala said abruptly, forcing a brittle smile. “Now we understand each other better, why don’t we get to work? We’ve have a lot to do before we can make that shuttle space-worthy.”

 

*   *   *

 

Ala wasn’t lying, Bulma thought as she was telepathically guided back through the compound. There was a lot of work to do, and impossible to say how much because it was entirely invention. Luckily that was Bulma’s specialty.

_ I see my room _ . She projected to Ala.  _ I think I’ll be safe now. _

_ Of course. Enjoy your privacy _ . And then she was gone.

Among the many things they’d talked about that evening, privacy had been high on Bulma’s agenda. It took some explaining and eventually she was forced to just flood Ala with her feelings on the matter and leave her to make sense of it. The conclusion was that she understood now a human’s need to have a safe space to think and to be without fear of outside judgement, and that there were also specific times when an interloper was never welcome. The term  _ respect  _ was often used, and also  _ boundaries _ . Bulma smiled. She’d forgiven Ala of course, how could she not, but she also felt that Ala could have saved them both a lot of trouble by being honest to begin with.

Lost in such thoughts Bulma was not prepared for the tumult that greeted her in her dorms.

“Bulma, have you seen this?”

“It’s mad, B, look!”

The girls were all in various states of nightdress but clustered around the bed nearest the door where they were busily unpacking something. She rushed forward, curiosity piqued.

“Linens, new tunics, bed clothes, and it all looks new too!” One of the girls exclaimed. “What’s going on? Who sent this?”

“What do you mean?” Bulma said, reaching into the pile to lift a sheet. It was a much higher grade than what they were already provided with.

“We were all getting ready for bed, when this brown-robe turns up with this bundle here and a note, then buggered right off again.”

“A note?” Bulma asked. “Let me see.”

It was swiftly produced and her perplexed smile crystallized as she read it, realisation dawning.

_ For the use of the occupants of room RD-402 _

Her stupid lie to Vegeta about that stolen maintenance robe. She could have kicked herself. He must have sent her these thinking she needed them for something. The thoughtfulness of the gesture was lost however underneath her sheer embarrassment that she’d solicited such a silly act of gallantry.

“So, does that mean anything to you?” Her comrade asked, alert to Bulma’s reddening face.

She handed back the paper note and cocked her head, feigning ignorance. “Sorry girls, not a thing.”

Disappointed, they went back to dissembling their prize.

 

*   *   *

 

For four days it was business as usual in Si’eth’s lab. The prototypes were completed, though when Vegeta made an appearance on the second day sporting his new half-healed injuries Si’eth threw up his hands and declared the fitting would have to be postponed until he was completely recovered. Bulma was too busy helping a colleague in the far corner to make an excuse to go to him, but as he avoided her eye entirely she decided that was for the best. It didn’t change the fact that his ignoring of her  _ did _ irk her pride.

She could understand his reluctance to be seen in his current condition. The gossip about the compound was that Zarbon was sporting an impressive black eye of his own, and while neither of them were willing to expressly outline the event, it was clear that a confrontation of some kind had occurred.

He somewhat redeemed himself on his way out by casting her a dark look full of meaning.  _ What  _ meaning was intended however eluded Bulma but she found some hours of entertainment in imagining possibilities.

Her clandestine activities had become her new routine. She would finish work, eat with her labmates, and then slip away for an “early night”. From there she would head to either Ala’s lab or the hangar, depending on Ala’s instructions, always with her maintenance robe handy in case she needed to disguise herself. The evening work was at times tedious, but the company was good and the problems challenging. Cloaking technology was not unknown to the empire after all, it was just so rarely used because a Freeza ship never had cause to hide itself. The issue was finding a way to scramble the communications that existed between all ships so that the shuttle couldn’t be traced to its destination. That was the part she found most frustrating

After that Ala would lead her back through the corridors safely, or another member of Ala’s cell would accompany her to her room. There she would fend off questions about where she kept going at night, the most frequent accusation being that she was having an affair. She scoffed at that but let them think what they wanted. It was easier that trying to invent her own cover story.

Then it was sleep, breakfast and back to the lab. Vegeta didn’t visit again for several days and Bulma began to have troubling doubts. Had she gone too far the other night? Was he now avoiding her on purpose? But if so why go to the trouble of sending her that package of linen? Unless it wasn’t him, but if not him then who? All these questions rattled around her brain as she tweaked and perfected as best she could her new scouter.

It seemed to last an age but on the fifth day, and by appointment for once, Vegeta arrived for the installation.

It had been a trying week, and Bulma had begged her leave of Ala the night before in order to ensure a good night’s sleep for what she predicted to be a stressful day. The first field test of any new piece of tech was sure to drive any engineer to distraction but this promised to be the most difficult she’d ever undertaken.

That was assuming it even worked. She had no way of knowing until she installed it if it was going to sync with the receivers he still had implanted, let alone if the new biometric mapping would install properly.

He arrived at the appointed hour and was welcomed by Si’eth, who effused that Vegeta was finally sufficiently healed and the fitting could continue. Vegeta nodded curtly and stepped past the healer towards the operating room. While he never looked exactly in her direction she got a good look at his face, and thought his injuries had healed remarkably well. The bruises that had been dark hues of purple when she’s last seen him had faded into shades of yellow and the cut on his brow was nearly closed.

“Bulma, are you ready?” Si’eth asked her, breaking her out of her reverie.

“Hmm? Oh yes!” She bundled the last few things she needed on top of her laptop and moved the whole lot into the operating room, following Si’eth.

 

* * *

 

 

He was in the chair before she entered the room. He observed from the corner of his eye that she was accompanied by two of the handier technicians, including the steady old healer Makky. He would have preferred fewer in attendance, but it couldn’t be helped. Makky began to lay out Si’eth’s tools with her practiced orderliness.

“So first let’s deal with that proxy.” Si’eth said, reaching for his tools. 

He was surprised at how cold his face felt when the protective covering was removed. He was less surprised however at the discomfort that followed it. Having the proxy out was never a pleasant experience, even when he wasn’t being goggled at by a roomful of people.

She was nearby, quietly leaning on a counter. He didn’t look directly at her but he could see her in his peripheral vision. Part of him desperately wanted to glance over and see if she was watching him, but as he knew from where that urge arose, he resisted it.

He found the scent of her highly distracting.

It was the first time he’d really registered the way she smelled, previously it had just faded into the background smells that made up his world. Now he couldn’t stop noticing it. It wasn’t a perfume smell or even the smells from her lab-work, it was just  _ her _ . He was grateful for Si’eth’s hands over his face, as they hid his blush.

The job was done quickly and efficiently. Vegeta was able to move freely for a few moments as Si’eth turned away to prepare the next stage. He turned his head to dispel the stiffness in his neck, and hating himself as he did so stole a glance at the woman.

She was looking at him avidly. His cheeks burned and he turned his gaze immediately, but too late, the expression on her face was burned into his memory. 

She was excited about her project’s completion, he told himself firmly. There could be no other explanation. The assurance did nothing to cool his rising blood, however, and he resolved to look at her no longer.

Si’eth requested Vegeta’s attention. He realised with anticipation that his new scouter was about to be unveiled. The healer had unnecessarily covered it with a piece of medical cloth merely so he could remove it upon the presentation. He found the pageantry mildly amusing however, and did not rebuke the young man for his excitement. Instead he inspected the technology proffered.

It was sleek with a smooth outer skin, unlike the last scouter which had been a mishmash of cables and extruding metal. It was designed to fit snugly inside the casing the woman had created, and the rotation would be achieved internally. That was possibly his favourite part, that rather than feel the foreign object rotating inside his skull he would feel only the smooth comfort of the casing as the false eye performed its necessary agitations. It wasn’t even installed yet and he was impressed. He nodded his approbation.

The healers and engineers all grinned at each other, taking craftsmen's simple pleasure in his approval. Si’eth handed the scouter off to Makky, who took it in her gloved crocodilian hands to press it into the casing. The next part would be most unpleasant.

Vegeta could not tell if the woman looked away, as his attention was somewhat engrossed by the forcing of the casing into his eye socket and all the small tasks that then ensued; Si’eth checked the fit as Makky coated the exposed flesh with anti-inflammatories, all while his scar tissue was variably dead to their touch and also highly sensitive, depending on where they poked him.

Nonetheless that too was over quickly, and he was released. He heaved an inward sigh of relief, and when it was indicated as safe to do so he sat up. A mirror had been procured by some brave assistant who now stood at the foot of the chair, holding it up to him. He was astounded.

It looked even better than he’d expected. The sleekness of the design was evident in every smooth line, and it restored an astounding amount of symmetry. His new scouter was spherical, as he’d seen in the blueprints, and the casing mimicked his natural eyelids. He turned his head to look at it from all angles, and in spite of himself finally raised his eye purposefully to the woman.

She was evidently pleased with her work, meeting his challenging glare without trepidation. He could wish for fewer observers, but otherwise he didn’t feel the usual anger that her insubordinate behaviour usually provoked. As for those observers, they were busy moving equipment around the room, replacing Si’eth’s doctoring tools with the trappings of the technician. She was about to take over, he realised, and his stomach clenched with something close to anticipation. It was only the basest form of himself, he told himself, that was excited by the thought of her being as close as she was that last night they were together.

She held his glare until Si’eth motioned her into his recently vacated position. With a nod she hefted over her small pile, including the device she’d brought with her from Earth, and took his place in Vegeta’s blind spot.

“You can go.” She said to the others. “This next bit is gonna be pretty dull, I’ll buzz you if I need assistance.”

Si’eth didn’t immediately order his staff to leave, looking to Vegeta for confirmation. He nodded, projecting calm even though his insides were in revolt. Reassured by this Si’eth and his assistants withdrew.

They were alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the wait, just moved house and bought a dog! Thank you for your patience!


	10. Passions

_Woman, will you put him down?”_

_“No, I will not.” He could feel her voice vibrating through the warm breast he was nestled into. He was very sleepy, but his delight in hearing his parents’ voices kept him from slipping into sleep. “He’s not going to be my baby much longer so I’m going to enjoy him while I can.”_

_The gruff male voice was evidently irritated, but at the same time tolerating. “You’re going to make him soft.”_

_“Don’t be ridiculous.” She replied dismissively. “We all saw his power level. He’s going to be one of our most proficient warriors. When he’s old enough to train I’ll cede his care to you entirely, but until then I’m going to allow him to be a child. My child.”_

_“I knew I shouldn’t have allowed you to give birth.” He muttered. “If he’d been in a gestation tank like his sisters he wouldn’t be suffering your coddling now.”_

_“Does he_ look _like he’s suffering to you?” The woman moved him so that more light fell on his little face, and he could see the outline of her chin and his father’s huge form silhouetted against the high windows of his nursery. “Anyway, I suspect the consorts who provided you with daughters must be deficient in some parental instinct, if they didn’t want to be bonded with their child.”_

_“Our next progeny will be gestated in the tanks.” He asserted._

_“You can fucking try, your majesty, but good luck getting any foetus of mine while I’m still alive to fight you.”_

_Despite the violence of the words the voices were light, playful. Vegeta yawned loudly and turned his head back into his mother’s breast, where he closed his eyes._

_“You’re going to have to let him go soon, woman.” He told her more gently. “That child is my heir, I need him to be strong in every sense of the word. His power level isn’t the only indicator of his strength.” He paused. “I don’t say this to hurt you.”_

_“I know that, it doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it” She snapped, though adding softly, “I always knew his upbringing as a prince would be different to mine. Just let me enjoy what I have left with him before you send him off to be turned into a warrior.”_

_There was a long pause, during which he marked a change in his mother’s breathing but not what it signified._

_“There will be other children. Children that you may keep so long as this one progresses as we hope he will.”_

_Vegeta felt something warm and wet drip on the side of his face. He shifted irritably to wipe it away._

 

* * *

 

 

“Well, that’s them sorted out.” Bulma chirped as she set up her Earth-made computing device, ‘laptop’ she had called it. “Honestly, why anyone would think this was more than a one-person job is beyond me.”

He said nothing, but turned his head to watch her. The way she picked things up, the particular curve of her neck as she leaned towards her screen, the tap-tap of her fingers on the keyboard. He knew his brain was going to store these memories whether he wanted it to or not, so he resigned himself to it. Where was the harm, he reasoned, in looking?

“I mean the scouter isn’t the only thing being worked on in this lab, y’know?” She prattled on. “It’s just not efficient to have a room of people sitting around watching me work on the off chance that I might need them.” She was plugging things into her laptop now, which whirred and buzzed as they woke into life. Their humming was a pleasant background of unobtrusive white noise.

“Ok, nervous-time now,” she turned to face him, one finger hovering over her keyboard apprehensively, “let’s see if it works.”

The finger descended and the humming increased in volume and pitch as the executable file she’d launched booted. Almost immediately he felt tiny vibrations within his eye socket. Curiously he raised his hand to see if any light from the scouter would be reflected there, and was pleasantly surprised to see that it was blue light, rather than the angry red-orange of previous iterations.

“It appears to be operational.”

“Ha, well you say that,” Bulma replied with a worried smile, “but this is the part we’ve been able to test by ourselves already. It’s the next part that concerns me.”

“The receptors?” He asked, and she nodded. “You have used many of the same internal components from the last scouter, why wouldn’t it work the same now?”

Bulma laughed good-naturedly as she worked, typing commands as she did so. “I’m an engineer at heart and I can’t resist making something better when I get my hands on it. I’ve made so many tweaks to those components at this point that I don’t think I can call them the same anymore. And if there’s one thing that every engineer can agree on, aside from duct tape, it’s that something will always go wrong in the field test.”

“What the hell is ‘duct tape’?”

And just like that, they were off again. He marvelled at how easily she drew him into conversing with her. Their talk was largely meaningless, ranging from Earth idioms to preferred foods and other insubstantial topics, but he found himself entertained. He spoke little, but was often pushing the conversation onwards with simple questions invited by her frank and open communication. Sometimes she would ask him something instead, and though restrained he was responsive. At points he even became effusive himself, when the discussion lit on topics within his personal experience, and all the while she never broke from her task.

The mild vibration, growing warmth and occasional tiny mechanical clicking that he now felt from inside his own skull was familiar to him, and a comfort after having been without his scouter for so long. He could see her screen from where he sat and spied the initial diagnostics running. He hadn’t been misinformed by her caution, as he noted the legions of errors and bugs that she tackled along the way, furiously typing swathes of new code even as she waxed lyrical on the subject of the moment.

At one point she begged a moment’s absence to visit the restroom and he was surprised to realise they’d been alone for an hour already. His slight pleasure at this swiftly gave way to annoyance however that even after an hour of fiddling his scouter was still not operational. He determined himself to address that.

“Whew, sorry about that.” Bulma apologised, slipping quietly into the theatre. “Can you believe it’s only been an hour? I feel like we’ve been in here for days. Whoever first programmed this thing fucked the software so hard, I’m telling you. Not that the hardware was much better. Honest to gods, with the tech available here I’d almost think they’d done such a shitty job on purpose.” She returned to her station and sat on the stool opposite her computer with a determined air. “This is going to be so freaking cool when it’s fixed.”

The marked difference in their perception of passing time gave him a qualm. Evidently the conversation that he’d begun to enjoy was a tiresome chore for her. Instead of haranguing her for the speed of her work he resolved to be silent instead. His resolve was not equal to his goal, however, and he quickly realised his demeanor was not that of a slighted prince but of a sulky child.

Completely unfazed, Bulma had continued the conversation. He reluctantly rejoined it, blushing slightly at himself.

“What happens next?” He asked curiously.

“Well,” she looked up from her keyboard, “I’ve nearly finished testing all the relays and receptors, after that it’s function mapping.” She saw him visibly grimace and she smiled with sympathy. “I know, it’s gonna be _pret-ty_ tedious.”

“Function mapping takes days.” He agreed.

“We’ll get what we can done today.” Bulma asserted, reaching into the organised chaos of her workstation for new tools. “But hey, at least the company’s good, right?”

He rolled his eye, but didn’t disagree. He was grateful at least that this session had required no part of her to touch any part of him. Even with his armour plating, he was concerned that his position would leave him very little chance to conceal an embarrassing response, and so he accepted the reality of being bored stiff for the remainder of the day as the materially better option. Besides which he was having trouble enough staying focussed with just her scent as a distraction, never mind the rest of her.

 

* * *

 

 

Curiosity in Si’eth’s lab was mounting, and though he would be the first to say that he had no skill for gossip even he was beginning to wonder what had possessed Bulma. To undertake such a long procedure with such a taciturn patient and then to eschew company, why would she put herself in that position? It had always been the consensus in his lab that anyone forced into close quarters with Director Vegeta for any length of time would not be left to fly solo. It baffled him.

It seemed less mysterious to his staff, who were now making quietly enthusiastic jests at the expense of Bulma’s modesty. Some even more unpleasantly had begun to suggest that she was trying to ingratiate herself with the Director for her own ends. Si’eth could not attribute Bulma’s behaviour to such low goals however, and strove to stifle any such talk, but he still could have wished that the observation windows were unscreened.

Lunch passed, and she didn’t emerge. He fetched her a dish of food which she happily accepted before shutting him out of his own theatre again. The entire day went by and he only saw her once, when she visited the restroom. Staff were leaving for the canteens, though some lingered out of curiosity, and still they both remained in the theatre. Hunger began to press Si’eth and so he knocked gently at the theatre door.

Bulma answered it, looking far too chipper for one who’d just spent the best part of her day staring at a computer screen. He asked her if she would be attending the evening meal.

“Maybe later.” She shrugged. “I’m on a roll here, I’m gonna keep going a bit longer.”

He lifted his hands in a gesture that, if not approving, indicated that he wasn’t going to argue.

“Well be careful not to tire yourself out too much, ok?” He said, turning to leave. As he did so he made eye contact with a few of the lingerers and motioned for them to withdraw likewise. If she wanted to take the lion’s share of boring work then he wasn’t going to try to stop her.

 

* * *

 

 

“Target; lock on; power level.” Bulma droned as Vegeta performed the necessary thought commands to attach to the function. She’d lost count of how many of these they’d done but she estimated it to be roughly in the region of a hundred gazillion. Even her penchant for experimenting with new technology had faded as she read out the hundredth command for him to map, and each one had to be done multiple times in order to ensure the receptors had recorded the correct brain signal to perform the action. It was tedious to the extreme, as it precluded any conversation while the work was being done.

“First test.” She continued. That was the other thing, after every function was brain mapped it needed to be tested. At least then it was safe to talk. Vegeta shifted so that he was leaning forward in his seat, making a dissatisfied noise as he did so.

“What’s the matter?”

“I need a target if I’m going to test this.” He reminded her. “Hold still.”

As he trained his gaze entirely on her she felt unaccountably self-conscious. She’d caught him looking at her enough times that his openly observing her now didn’t really bother her, but the idea that he could read the natural energy that emanated from her body, something she couldn’t see let alone sense, felt incredibly intimate somehow. He was assessing her from the inside out. She shifted uncomfortably on her seat and smiled haphazardly.

“What does the scouter say about my power level?” She asked jovially, to break her own tension.

He blinked and turned his face aside with a slight smile of his own.

“Pathetic, as expected. It detects you as a life form, but your ki only just registers.” He shrugged. “You should work on increasing its sensitivity once this phase is complete.”

“I’d be insulted if I wasn’t literally a genius.” She retorted, affecting annoyance. “You know they say the pen is mightier than the sword.”

“You could be the most intelligent individual to ever have breathed but you will still never succeed in opposing insurmountable strength.” He replied seriously.

They fell silent for a few breaths, Bulma thinking about what was implied. He was correct, none of her technological feats had prevented her planet from falling, and no amount of preparation on her part could have saved her from being brought here. She was reminded too that the ‘insurmountable strength’ she had tried to oppose had been _his_. She felt a pang of guilt that she’d again allowed herself to enjoy the company of a man who had brought so much misery to her loved ones, and at the same time an angry protestation from her own feelings. She was torn.

“First test successful. Log for next session: follow-up required.” She muttered, turning back to her laptop. He returned to a reclining position. “Next command issue. Target; lock on; status dump.”

They continued with the tedious business of mapping functions.

“First test.”

“You are offended.” He stated.

“No I’m not.”

“You are.”

They were quiet a few more moments, and Bulma restarted the test sequence. He locked his scouter to a terminal at the far end of the room and the requested data appeared before his vision, sent directly through his optical nerve to his brain.

“Successful.” Vegeta informed her, looking at her now with mild interest. “I haven’t seen you offended.”

“Of course you have!” She snapped. “Second test.”

“No, I’ve seen you angry - and that was quite entertaining - but this is different.” He chose a different object, one he knew would have no data attached, just for the purposes of the test. “Successful.”

“First and second tests successful.” She growled at her laptop, tapping the keyboard a little harder than was necessary. “Next command-”

“What offended you?” He pressed, appearing more curious than genuinely concerned.

“I’m not offended, alright?” She abandoned the keyboard and met his gaze squarely. “It’s just - what you said - made me think of…” She dropped her eyes to her lap. “It made me think of the day you came, and how little prepared we were to defend ourselves. I was trying to think of some way I could have beaten you and saved my family.”

“You do know I was supposed to kill you? You’d have all been dead if I’d followed my orders.” He said, and though she thought it might be her imagination she heard a trace of defensiveness in his voice.

“So what, you want me to thank you instead?” She cocked her head, fighting to keep her small burst of anger from showing.

“Of course not.” Now it was his turn to shift uncomfortably. “But it’s hardly my fault that your race was too unevolved to protect itself.”

“And what about your race then, bub?” She shot back, seeing the danger but unable to stop herself. “If your race is so damned great and mine so pathetic how come there’s only one of you and about seven billion of me?”

He said nothing and Bulma, convinced that she’d finally crossed the line, pushed her stool back against the counter. She didn’t think she’d be able to make it to the door in time but if she had to she’d try.

“I see you’ve been doing your research.” He finally said, his voice soft and cold. “I suppose your loose tongue can gossip its way easily into my history, but we both know the truth. Why did you hack into the medical database?”

Bulma, unprepared for the sudden change of tangent, sat wide-eyed and silent.

“Si’eth’s technicians reported what looked like an unauthorised access some time ago, but as no trace of the culprit could be found it was not further investigated. It was you, wasn’t it?”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean-”

“No need to apologise. You are correct, I am one of a kind and you are one of seven billion.” He swung his legs off the chair. “It is late, I expect your weak body requires sustenance. We can finish this tomorrow.”

“Vegeta, please, I really am sorry-”

“I couldn’t care less about how you feel, about anything.” He said without looking at her. The door whooshed open and he left immediately.

 

*   *   *

 

Bulma neither ate nor slept well that evening. She replayed the conversation in her mind over and over, growing more dissatisfied with each reiteration. She’d said nothing that she didn’t think he deserved, and yet her misery in the manner of their parting was perplexingly acute. It was his own words that had reminded her firmly of their short history, and she felt she was right to retain her resentment, but she couldn’t ignore the fact that she had grown to like him. The reasons why she liked him were not quite cut and dried but she could date its commencement to the moment she’d finished reading his medical file.

She’d pitied him, and in that pity she’d reached out to him in small ways, and both her good nature and ego were gratified by his positive reception of that attention. Despite having every reason to still hate him, Bulma had always defaulted to friendly generosity; it was her nature, and by some alchemy, that which was on her part a calm acknowledgement of his strengths had mutated into genuine caring. She enjoyed talking with him. She’d only approached it first as a sort of challenge, each word unrelated to the work in hand that she pulled from him being her victories. She had only ever intended to make her working life smoother by engendering a friendly camaraderie between them but damn it she’d fucked up. She’d fucked up the moment she began to care about him, and even more so when she first started to compare him to Yamcha.

She hadn’t meant to, had never intended to see him as anything more than a part of this alien machine she’d been forced to labour within, but even before she’d felt his heart beating under her hand he had become in her mind a being of flesh, blood and all the pain that goes with them. His night-time visit, as both her patient and dream spectre, had confirmed him as a source of painfully strong feelings, uncomfortably mixed.

She had fervently tried to convince herself that her dream had been just misfiring neurons, that it meant nothing, and with his absence in the days since she’d been almost successful, but his proximity that afternoon had left her with no room to doubt that she was attracted to him. When it had started, or even why, she couldn’t say, but the flutter in her belly and pink points on her cheeks didn’t lie.

He was strong, intelligent, and in his own way sort of honourable. He fought like an artist and was well spoken, and though certainly not as dashing or conventionally handsome as Yamcha, he cut a more dignified figure. His physique was etched indelibly into her mind’s eye, and though compact he was perfectly built. Even his face, scarred as it was, retained enough of his fine eye and well-bred features to convince her that he had truly been handsome. The new scouter casing of her own invention made his scars enigmatic, and altogether lent much needed style to his natural gravity.

She was filled with uncertainty. Would he turn up tomorrow? If he did would he still be angry? And what if he was, should she apologise again or fight back? It’s not like she’d said anything that wasn’t true, and besides which he’d been pretty rude himself. He might not even want her involved in the project anymore, at least not with any part that involved his participation. If so should she protest?

With these thoughts, cycling confusedly between self-reproach and self-righteous anger, she woke, washed and breakfasted and hurried early to her lab. Working would help ease her anxiety.

The lab was mostly empty, Si’eth’s staff being in the privileged position of lacking close scrutiny were lingering over their breakfasts, which made the presence of the Saiyan Prince at her workstation, arms crossed impatiently, all the more conspicuous. He glanced at her with annoyance and nodded at the operating theatre.

“Get a move on, woman, I don’t have all day.”

 

* * *

 

 

In order to possess hurt feelings, one must first own up to having feelings at all, and this was something Vegeta was unwilling to do. He would go so far as to admit he was insulted, and could even think that his pride had taken a small knock, but any more than that he must deny fervently. That she had spoken to him the way she did was irrelevant because he didn’t care, therefore it was not possible that he felt any sort of repercussion from her words whatsoever.

He’d just not been hungry, that’s why he’d skipped his evening meal - probably because he’d had such a big breakfast. And after a long day of sitting down it was no wonder that he struggled to find sleep that night. That was all. And his distaste at the very thought of eating the next morning was in no part due to an anxiety of returning to the lab but merely the result of a poor night’s sleep and lack of exercise. He decided, as sleep and breakfast were denied him, to be at the lab early to have the whole ridiculous ordeal finally finished with once and for all.

She wasn’t there.

He waited several minutes, arms crossed over his chest, pointedly ignoring the lab staff who had begun to sleepily file in. At several points the previous day he had considered having someone else fill Bulma’s role, but as that would make her think she had actually affected him he’d decided against it. Now he was toying with the idea again but something about having a stranger perform the tasks he had expected to be done by her was unpleasing to him, and so he waited.

At long last, many minutes after the time she ought to have arrived, the woman entered the lab. He was secretly pleased to see how much his earlier arrival had unnerved her.

“Get a move on woman.” He ordered gruffly, gesturing towards their room. “I don’t have all day.”

She stood with her mouth open stupidly for a few moments before recollecting herself and hurrying past him to open the door. He followed her inside, glancing briefly at the other workers, who all took pains to make themselves beneath his notice. He shut the door himself.

“ _Try_ not to dawdle so much this time round.” He said coolly, taking his usual place in the chair. “If you didn’t talk so much we’d have finished this by now.”

“Excuse me,” she retorted, “I did more yesterday than anyone else could do in a week! If you want to sit in sullen silence while we wait for the machines to do their bit then suit yourself!”

He ignored her outburst, not least because he didn’t have a cutting response to it, and awaited the next batch of functions. When she was safely turned towards the counter he watched her closely. He could only see her back, but the sharpness of her typing and tense hunch of her shoulders were evidence enough that he’d gotten to her. There was a bitter sort of satisfaction to seeing her nettled by his words, though he couldn’t rationalize it.

“Map function: audio; record; start/stop.” Bulma snapped at him. He smirked in spite of himself and performed the necessary mental acrobatics.

“Test function: audio; record; start/stop.”

“Audio test one.” He murmured, for want of anything else to add, his scouter informing him that the audio had been stored. “Test successful.”

“I won’t know if this it was successful until we map playback.” She said, not looking yet looking in his direction. “We’ll do that next.”

He nodded his acquiescence, though beginning to feel that the triumph of putting the woman back in her place would come with very little reward.

 

* * *

 

The morning dragged on this way for some hours, mapping function after function with no conversation beyond what was directly related to the work. The boredom might have been enough but the tension in the room was palpable. Bulma was no fool, and the full extent of his affront was clear in his pointedly curt manner. He pretended to the both of them that he was untouched by her insults of the previous evening but his behaviour to her in every way declared it to be otherwise. When they had first met on Earth he had treated her with a neutral coldness, but this was so much worse than that. He cemented a layer of chilly hostility over the shaky foundations of their new-grown friendship with every action he made.

She was angry, of course, but she was beginning to wonder how deeply she had cut him. As so much of his behaviour could be attributed to insulted pride she would have expected more personal insults. As it was her prediction was made reality by his passive aggressive silence; during the periods that required the machinery alone to perform tasks, and they were frequent due to the nature of the data storage and transfers underway, they didn’t speak a word to each other.

The clock in the lab chimed for lunch and Bulma breathed a sigh of relief. She finished the function they were currently working on then excused herself. He allowed her to go but made no move to leave the lab himself. Suit himself, she thought, it made no difference to her if he starved himself. But, she then thought contrarily, it wouldn’t hurt to take something back with her.

By the time she’d caught up with her labmates they were already part way through their meals, and she had to be particularly quick to get anything at all, and they were so full of questions she barely had time to swallow.

“Oh he’s _awful_ today!” She declared. “He won’t talk, _barely_ so much as looks at me, you’d think I wasn’t even there. Man, I must have pissed him off something royal yesterday.”

“Why, what did you do?”

“Oh who knows with him?” She lied.

“Well I’ll be your second in there when we get back.” Volunteered one of the healers, more out of curiosity than charity.

She smilingly waved away her offer. “I’ll be fine, there’s no reason for more than one of us to suffer.”

The healer shrugged and returned to her nearly finished meal. Bulma wolfed down hers likewise and stood to leave with the rest of them. A resolution had been forming in her mind.

 

*   *   *

 

When she returned to the lab it was with her usual confidence, rather than that morning’s scurrying gait. A small plastic box in one hand, she made her way directly to the operating room where, as she’d expected, Vegeta remained. He was stood, leaning against the chair, arms crossed forbiddingly across his chest, his fine, dark eye narrowed at her. Intimidating as he undoubtedly thought he was, Bulma had had enough. She had put up with his shit all morning and now it was going to stop.

She dropped her box on the counter, checked the observation windows were properly shuttered, then she fully closed the door, locking it firmly from the inside and spun to face him.

“Alright, this has gone on long enough.” She announced, restraining herself from grinning at how startled he looked. “I know what I said last night was unacceptable, but I refuse to work with you if you’re going to sulk through the whole procedure.”

“Who do you think you’re-”

“No. I’m talking. You’ll have your turn in a minute.” She was further delighted by his speechless mouth hanging open, his countenance in complete shock. “What I said to you was cruel, and I really am sorry, but it doesn’t change that what you did to me was worse in every way. You took me from my home, my family. I had everything I could ever have wanted and you took that too. Do you think I care that you were following orders? Do you think it matters to me that it wasn’t personal? Don’t forget that the first time we met you had me on my knees in a death grip - and that hurt like a bitch thank you very much.”

“It wasn’t that hard, you’re exaggerating-”

“My turn still!” He was stood up at this point but she noticed he was backed up against the chair. She saw her advantage and continued to press it. “Then you throw me on a spaceship and just abandon me in a lab somewhere, like I wasn’t even important. Are you surprised that I might resent you? Is it really that hard for you to imagine that I might harbour some anger for what you did? That doesn’t go away overnight just because we’d started trying to ‘small-talk’.”

She took a deep breath to steady herself then ploughed on before Vegeta could interrupt. “Look, I’ll admit it to you here and now, I like you. I didn’t want to, but I didn’t get a lot of choice. I mean you saved me from those soldiers, let me move labs, and I’ve enjoyed our conversations. I was starting to see the similarities between us ...but then what you said last night, about me being weak and ...it just took me right back to Earth. And I snapped. I tried to hurt you the only way I know how and I didn’t think ...well, it’s too late now. I guess it’s your turn to talk.”

“You’re either very brave or very stupid.” He said, but without malice. In truth she could detect no emotion from his now downcast eye and deduced that whatever he felt was being tightly restrained. “You want me to forgive you, but for that I’d need to admit your offence. If I were to do that I think I might just have to kill you.”

Bulma shook her head. “I had a better idea, actually. I think we ought to start again. Fresh.”

He looked up at her with confusion as she crossed the room to stand before him, hand outstretched.

“Hello. I am Bulma Briefs of the planet Earth, heiress to the Capsule Corporation. It’s nice to meet you.” She kept her hand held straight out in front of her, hoping he knew the gesture. She was so nervous that she held her breath in an effort to keep from shaking. After a few seconds that felt like minutes he pushed himself away from the chair and took her thin hand in his gloved one, and shook it.

“I am Vegeta, the prince of all Saiyans, heir to -” He stopped, made eye contact with her but withdrew his gaze instantly, fixing unseeingly on some other object in the room. The muscles of his jaw clenched under his skin and she felt his hand stiffen in hers before he withdrew that likewise. “I am a captain in Lord Freeza’s Imperial Army.”

Her heart bled for him.

“It still hurts, doesn’t it?” She asked him gently, unsure what to expect. He didn’t reply but continued to stare in the same direction. “That’s what really hit me, when I read your file. I can at least hope that one day I’ll see my family again, but you don’t even have that.”

“We’ve done enough for today.” He said, making a move for the door, but she stepped in his way. Her shoulders dropped and hands lowered, she was not threatening, but she was between him and where he wanted to go. She saw him deliberating.

“Please, wait.” She raised a hand impulsively to touch his chest but thought better of it and curled it against her own. “It’s ok, you know, to still be angry, or sad, or whatever you’re feeling. I won’t ask you, I mean I would never-” she paused and collected herself. “I’m not trying to force you to talk to me, but you should know that I will never repeat anything that happens in this room. I think ...I think given the time we’re going to have to spend together, we ought to try at least to be friends.”

They stood in silence a few seconds more. Bulma’s felt like her heart was going to beat right out of her chest.

“What’s that box for?” He asked eventually.

“Hmm?” Bulma cocked her head, wrongfooted momentarily before following his eyeline to the container she’d brought with her. “Oh that. I had a feeling you might not have left for lunch, so I brought you something, just in case.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“Oh, had a big breakfast, huh?”

“Not ...exactly.”

“Seriously? Vegeta, we’re gonna be in here a few hours more, probably way after quitting time. You have to eat.”

Vegeta was silent for a moment. “You’ve been using my given name for some time now. Not in public, which shows at least a modicum of awareness on your part, but certainly you’ve had no qualms dropping my rank and title from our private conversation. I would be willing to do the same, provided of course that public decorum is maintained.” He reached for the box, smirking wryly. “Perhaps, Ms Briefs, I am a little hungry after all.”

“It’s Bulma, please.” She laughed at him. “But ‘Ms Briefs’ is still an improvement.”

 

* * *

 

Vegeta drank a cup of water and eyed the empty food container disdainfully. “What did you call that stuff again?”

“Jambi.” Bulma said, and he saw her conceal her smile with her hand.

“It’s awful.”

“You ate it, though.”

“I was hungry.” He wrinkled his nose at the memory, and looked at her accusingly. It was her fault he’d skipped breakfast after all. “Is this what you have to eat every day?”

Bulma laughed at that. “Believe it or not the jambi is actually considered a treat for us, although I grant you today’s wasn’t their best.”

He was unimpressed. “You receive credits, don’t you? Can’t you purchase anything better?”

She laughed again and shook her head at him. “Even if there was something in there worth buying, our credit allowance is pretty pathetic. I’ve been saving mine up for skin moisturiser. Although I did drop a few on that jambi for you. Second helpings are extra you see.”

He fell silent, too proud to thank her but sensible to her kindness. Something in his expression must have clued her in because she reached over to the chair and lightly punched him on the arm.

“Hey, don’t sweat it. It was only a few day’s allowance, nothing crazy.”

“I shall reimburse you.” He said in place of thanks.

“Seriously, chill out.” She was typing on her laptop and he could see the string of commands that awaited him. His first thought, to his own surprise, was not how tedious they would be but genuine pleasure at how long it would allow him to remain with her.

They soon fell back into their now comfortable routine, her doing most of the talking with mild encouragement from him, and even a touch of light banter. Bulma was clearly proud of her ribaldry and found endless subjects to tease him about, but never once did they allude to their conversation of the previous evening, or her probing comments earlier that day. He still felt a twinge of discomfort at the memory of both, but found he could bear it easily since her declaration.

He was once again astounded by her in every way. Her ability to adapt coupled with her strength of character, her strong resolve and almost suicidal fearlessness, how could he not admire her? She looked tired, he noted, and her hair was below her chin now. The hair suited her and the weight had made it straighter; he found the way she constantly tucked it back behind her ears as she worked made him want to smile.

Her attempt to reset their relationship, though a symbolic gesture in essence, had done more than he thought she realised. It had levelled their playing field. She was no longer a servant to him, or even just a lower ranking slave than he was, but he could now treat her as his equal. She may not have a lick of bodily strength, but her natural authority and her genius could not be denied.

He heard the chime that signalled the working day was over for this lab. As their last function was just completed he sat up reluctantly, expecting her to leave.

“Where are you going, mister? We still have work to do.”

He stared at her.

“Come on, we finished early yesterday. We have catching up to do.”

Trying to look as if he didn’t care one way or the other he reclined back into the chair. He did, however, request she pass him his data tablet.

“Right, time to take photos.” She smiled complacently. “Command line: store current image. Got it? Cool, first test.”

He nodded to indicate that he’d performed the mental command.

“Alright, let’s see if it uploaded correctly.” She paused, waiting for her laptop to respond, and finally an image popped up on her screen. She looked at it for a few seconds, and turned her face away from him slightly so that he was unable to attempt a reading of her facial expression. The image on her screen was of herself, in partial profile, her sight trained on her laptop and apparently oblivious to being observed. He blushed suddenly and wondered if he should have captured something else.

“First test successful.” He pointed out to her when she still did not speak.

“Apparently so. Sorry, I…” She turned back to face him. “I didn’t realise how different I look now. We don’t have mirrors in our bathrooms, and it’s been so long since I had any make-up, even a hair cut…”

“What is make-up?” He asked, sensing the conversation had ventured into an emotional field he was not equipped for and anxious to return it to one of a purely factual basis.

“Oh, they’re like creams and powders and things with dyes in them that you use to make yourself look better. Cosmetics, you know?”

“Oh I’ve seen that.” He said sagely. “The soldiers say that’s how to spot the whores.”

Bulma looked affronted but she turned her scowl into a smirk, though not before he’d noticed. “I’ve heard that on some planets the prostitutes paint their faces different colours to signify their specialities. Is that true?”

“I have heard similar things.” He shifted a little in discomfort, upbraiding himself silently for introducing such a topic. “I’ve not seen them myself. I have no business in that part of a spaceport.”

There was quiet on both sides for a little while. Vegeta, deeply embarrassed by the turn of the conversation, stared at the image on Bulma’s laptop. He didn’t understand what she found so disheartening about it.

“Shall we move on then?” She prompted him.

“Of course.” He agreed, relieved.

“Second test.”

He chose some harmless object in the room to photograph, lest she be offended again.

“Second test successful. I recall you once telling me of your childhood escapades.” He ventured. “Were you in earnest?”

“How do you mean?”

“Weak as you are currently, I can’t imagine you were any stronger back then. Is Earth so without hazard that your safety was not in question?”

“Well,” she hesitated, “it’s not like I was alone.”

“You had companions?” He pressed.

“Yes, and some of them very strong.” She asserted proudly.

“And so that is why your father allowed you to leave on your quest then?”

“Oh, well, not exactly.” She bit her lip. “I’d been travelling a while before I even met them.”

“Alone?”

She nodded; he frowned.

“Were you often alone?”

She didn’t seem to like his question but attempted to hide the fact. “I was always busy. And I didn’t like kids my own age.”

“I don’t like ‘kids’ of any age, or adults for that matter.” He said, trying to decide if he was actually joking.

“I was in advanced classes for most of school, and then I was working with my dad a lot, and my mom always said the other kids were just jealous…”

She tailed off and was silent. Her vague relation recalled to him some of his own childhood memories, how he would try to engage with other children his own age, even his own cousins, only to find cold politeness at every turn. It was not the done thing to treat the Prince of All Saiyans as casually as any other playmate. He remembered hearing from a distance the raucous noise of the soldiers at ease and knowing how abruptly it would stop if he were to approach. He was not neglected, per se, he was always attended, even beyond his wishes, but he couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to laugh and joke and drink and swear as freely as the men and women under his father’s command did.

You’re just better than them, he would tell himself, and they know it. You wouldn’t want to be as uncouth as they are, or as stupid. You should be proud to be different to them. He had a sudden insight that Bulma’s inner justifications for her singular pursuits were not dissimilar.

“You mentioned that you were questing after some ancient gemstones, but you never mentioned why.” He asked, in order to dispel his uncomfortable musings. “Did they have some peculiar property?”

Bulma didn’t answer straight away, seeming almost confused by the question, and was saved from answering by a knock on the theatre door. She froze in amazement and Vegeta had to clear his throat and nod his head towards the door before she realised what she was about. She answered it in something of a fluster, which annoyed him as he’d only that evening pressed on her the importance of her maintaining a proper demeanor. Regardless, the knock was answered and a low level courier swiftly delivered a wide, covered container into her hands and just as swiftly withdrew. She turned in confusion to Vegeta who observed her with total calmness.

“That took long enough to arrive.” He said critically. “Well, don’t just stand there, bring that here.”

“I’m not your servant, you know.” She quipped, obeying him without much grace.

“That is an oversight that is easily rectified.” He raised an eyebrow pointedly.

“Whatever, prince of empty threats.” She set the box down on the nearest counter as he indicated. “What’s in there, then?”

“What else?” He opened it himself and inhaled approvingly. “I got us some actual food.”

Bulma leaned over eagerly to inspect. The box contained small ceramic trays, each loaded artfully with a selection of dishes that were dressed perfectly, and accompanied by small carafes of wine, which while he did not drink he thought might be acceptable to her. She expressed herself vociferously.

“But hey, what’s that jar there?” She pointed at a nondescript jar in the far corner. It was white and squat and in size was almost more of a tub than a jar.

“You said you needed skin moisturiser. I thought I might as well if I was going to have food delivered.” The look of gratitude that had spread over her face heightened all the beauty that he’d been trying hard not to notice. Her eyes alone were flooding him with a violent rush of conflicting emotions and he looked away, affecting a disapproving scowl.  “Anyway, it’s just to shut up your whining. That alone has to be worth the credits. And now we’re even for the Jambi.”

His facade was seen through, and she grasped the jar with gleeful gratitude, thanking him as if he’d granted her the greatest riches in the galaxy. She ignored entirely his attempts to menace her out of her smiles and only just stopped short at hugging him, to both his relief and disappointment.

“What does it even do?” He asked as he reached for a small platter. He wasn’t going to wait for her to start eating.

“The clue is in the name,” she said grinning, and reaching likewise for a plate. “It moisturises your skin.”

“To what end?”

“To a softer, more youthful end. Healthy skin is beautiful skin, and vice versa.”

He didn’t know enough about it to agree or disagree, so instead he watched carefully as she bit into her first morsel of food. Her reaction was immediate.

“Oh my gods what _is_ this?” She exclaimed with her mouth full, taking another half a bite. He said nothing in response, but smirked his satisfaction. It wouldn’t do to get her accustomed to such a higher grade of cuisine, but while he had her so close he would enjoy what he could of her infectious good-humour, augmented by what little luxuries he’d been able to afford her.

“It’s been so long since I had food like this.” Bulma was perched on the counter, feet dangling and hunched over her plate, a picture of contentment. She never bothered to clear her mouth before talking, washing down her food with, in his opinion, rather too much wine. “It’s so _good_.”

“Officers must expect some increase in lifestyle, otherwise no soldier would ever put themselves to the trouble of getting promoted.” He pointed out. “The offerings in the workers’ and soldiers’ canteens are purposely inferior in order to create a contrast.”

“Oh, so you weren’t always an officer?”

He grimaced slightly, as much from her want of table manners as anything else. “As a prince I’ve always had access to the officers’ mess, but in my youth I chose to accompany my men in the soldiers’ mess.”

“Youth, huh? How old are you anyway?”

Her question threw him entirely. It had been an immense time since he’d considered something as trivial as his own age, and between the difference in year lengths and the fact that his own planet had been gone for so long it was almost impossible to know his own age in Saiyan terms, and even if he did it would be meaningless to Bulma.

“Ok, touchy subject.” She laughed, clearly mistaking his thoughtful gravity for offense. “But you know what’ll help with that?” She didn’t wait for an answer but instead deposited her empty wine bottle and brandished her precious pot.

“Don’t you dare.” He growled, even as she slid a sharp thumbnail through the seal and uncapped it.

“Oh relax. It’s ladies first anyway.” She lifted a small gobbet of the white cream and smeared it over her face and neck, before rubbing it gently in with small, happy noises. He hated himself even as he stared, completely transfixed by this display. Of course she noticed, there’s no way she couldn’t have, and again he endlessly cursed his own weakness.

“It’s ok if you want some.” She teased, dipping her fingers back in the pot.

“I’ll be fine.” He retreated back to his chair.

“Try it, it’s good for you.”

“No, really, I don’t want it.”

“Oh don’t be silly.” She sprang from the counter and advanced on him, white tipped fingers at the ready. He edged further away from her.

“Stop it, Bulma.”

She didn’t stop, and he put up insufficient resistance to persuade her that he was genuinely uncomfortable. She laughed playfully and tried to wipe her fingers on his bare skin, aiming for his face. He fended off her arms with as much grace as possible, and tried with middling success to treat it as a game the way she did. He struggled however, as half of him recoiled at having his personal space invaded while the other half longed to invade hers.

He wasn’t aware at what point in the game she’d managed to get a knee onto the chair, but he _did_ notice when it was pressed against his inner thigh. It wasn’t apparent if she’d noticed, intent as she was at trying to moisturise his face.

“Bulma, I mean it-”

He spoke a second too late. Somehow she’d made contact, and his indignation was almost as great as his discomfort.

“There, it’s on now.” She said, having leaned back upon achieving her aim. “You might as well rub it in, or let me.” She added, as he raised a hand gingerly to prod at it.

She did accordingly, and Vegeta was transported in a moment to their evening together nearly a week ago, feeling her stroke his face now as gently as she’d ever done then. He was capable of no further protest, and felt himself submitting to her touch like a child. She hovered over him, insensible it seemed to the warmth she was spreading through his limbs by her mere touch, so close that he could feel her breath. He fancied he could feel her heartbeat, but more likely it was only his own. And then he felt a twitch in his lower region.

He reacted poorly, he later admitted, concerned only with avoiding the embarrassment that an erection between them would cause, but in his haste to remove himself from Bulma he merely unbalanced her, and sent her prone form toppling against his. Her slight weight pressed against him as they both sank into the operating chair, and she’d gripped his shoulders in surprise.

He could feel every square inch of her front, from the soft breasts resting on his abdomen to the warmth of her centre pressed against his thigh. Her lips were parted, pink, and her gaze now meeting his was earnest but he barely had time to fathom what those blue, blue eyes were trying to tell him before she kissed him.

What he felt at that moment was not to be described. His conscious mind was screaming at him to desist, to retaliate, to do something other than return the kiss, but he was no longer in control. Every higher notion had retreated against the warmth of her lips upon his, and even the knowledge of his own deformity in the face of her impeccable beauty couldn’t penetrate his mind.

She tasted of wine.

He had to _stop this._

He gripped her shoulders and thrust her backwards, not hard enough to push her from the chair but hard enough to create himself a space to slip out from beneath her and regain his feet, though without much dignity.

Gabbling some nonsense regarding the food box, and granting her permission to do with it as she wished, he all but fled the room. He didn’t even know what it was he really said, but it didn’t matter. At that point the only thing that mattered was to make it to his own rooms, where he thought he might have better success in searing from his memory the look of surprise and hurt in her expressive face.


	11. Permission

_ Nappa insisted it was a right of passage, something all Saiyans had to do when they passed into manhood. He was more than insistent, despite the doubts of both himself and Radditz that Nappa had correctly calculated the calendar year in which Vegeta would be expected to complete this particular ritual. Radditz was more eager to perform his duties of adulthood, despite being at least a little younger than Vegeta himself. All the same, it had to be done at some point, and he would be a laughing stock if he left the station without completing what should be a simple task. He further suspected that his lack of interest up to this point and the whispered rumours about himself that he’d heard as a result were the true driving motivation for Nappa’s zealous promotion of this ritual. _

_ He knew what to do, had been told how to do it, but now, alone and faced with putting theory into practice with no encouragement beyond the raucous guffawing of his fellow soldiers he flinched from it. _

_ “Get in there, boy!” Was his parting instruction as he was thrust into the room with the door locked behind him.  He resisted the desire to check the latch. _

_ She was beautiful, he supposed, in the common way of all brothel inmates, and shared many of his simian traits. Likely that was why she’d been chosen by his guardian. He had expected her to assist in this demeaning event but thus far she had done nothing but lay motionless on the bed, her expressionless eyes staring straight up at the ceiling. His first tentative step forwards provoked no response from her. Vegeta surmised that Nappa had chosen this girl purely from aesthetics and without any consideration for experience. _

_ When he knelt on the bed he saw her expression harden. He also saw her hands clutch reflexively at the coverings, trying unsuccessfully to hide her shaking fingers. He could not remember ever being more uncomfortable. _

_ He didn’t want her, would probably never want her, but he was told on all sides that not taking her with animalistic glee made him less of a man in the eyes of the soldiery. What sort of universe was this where he could separate a warrior from their very life - and often did - and was yet refused the title of ‘man’ until he had dispatched his seed? _

_ He’d procrastinated long enough. The casual clothing that Nappa had made him wear was loose enough that he could present himself without exposing anything more than was necessary, and without uttering a word he inexpertly mounted the prostitute. _

_ The experience was not earth shattering. Warmth and pressure he had expected, but he couldn’t describe the sensations produced by the gentle friction as pleasurable. It was too sensitive, and fell far off the pleasure spectrum to something more akin to pain. He pushed in further but could barely maintain his feeble erection as it was, and looking into the young woman’s dead eyes as he floundered on top of her made him sick to his stomach. _

_ She was so young. Now he was close to her he could see through the poorly applied makeup and saw she was barely any older than himself. She was the property of the brothel owner, most likely a slave picked up in a raid, and enduring this was as much her duty as it was his to fight and kill for Lord Freeza. Besides which, she hadn’t fought him or made any attempt to escape. Her time had been paid for by Nappa, he ought to make use of it. _

_ He ought to, but after two inept thrusts he knew his heart wasn’t in it. He withdrew in a maelstrom of shame and relief. He didn’t look at her again, didn’t want to know if she was still frozen in conscious resignation or if she was also feeling relief at his retreat. He didn’t know which would be worse. _

_ He took his time to rearrange his clothing, so as to give the impression to the drunk soldiers awaiting his return that he’d performed in some way equal to their expectation. For his part he’d found the encounter to be even more disgusting than he’d predicted. He doubted there was water in the universe hot enough to make him feel clean again. _

 

* * *

 

The bedroom ceiling could offer Bulma no argument that could overturn the indisputable evidence of her evening’s conduct, and she’d been staring at it for at least an hour by her reckoning. No, in spite of every effort, every denial, every excuse, she was now forced by the almost involuntary compulsions of her own body to admit that she wanted Vegeta, in the basest sense, and by Gods hadn’t she let him know that. Furthermore, she had the mortifying conviction that he did not want her in return.

What other conclusion could she reach? He’d all but thrown her across the room and bolted. Admittedly her advances were a bit sudden, but surely that couldn’t be his only objection. She’d sobered up immediately, actually far giddier from her own playful excitement than from the wine, and felt the humiliation of his tacit rejection which was severely heightened by her own naturally strong feelings. She’d tidied up, using the time to compose herself, and removed herself and the box of delicacies to her dormitories, where she told some well prepared lies and passed the prize on to her roommates. The wine was particularly well-received and two of the heaviest partakers were snoring loudly in their beds.

What would she do? The work should have been completed by now, what would Si’eth think? And what should she say when Vegeta finally returned? He had to come back eventually, but she didn’t know what to expect from him in the least.

Anger flared in her. What was wrong with him? She knew he’d been looking at her - she’d caught him at it - and she’d even had to bear the odd joking remark from older members of the staff, so why, when she was literally throwing herself at him, would he suddenly decide she wasn’t good enough for him? She thought bitterly that he couldn’t have looked in a mirror recently, despite feeling a little ashamed of her own pettiness.

She was in truth conflicted. Her self assurance and the evidence of her own observation still made her believe that he must want her, and then there was the way he’d softened, momentarily, his mouth responding to hers so naturally and gently that she felt her face heat up just thinking about it; but then his sudden change, his hurried escape. She’d been describing it to herself as him rejecting her advances, but as her anger subsided, she was left with the conviction that, whatever the  _ result  _ of the evening, he really was attracted to her, and that his flight must have some other cause.

These thoughts became a cyclical pattern as she drifted around the edges of sleep; anger, embarrassment and confusion were her constant companions while a small, repressed sense of regret tried to make itself known. She wasn’t ready yet to find fault in her own actions.

Eventually she did sleep, and her sleep was troubled by disjointed dreams. She woke up very disquieted but without being able to remember any single dream beyond a sense of general unease. Either way she had had to get up and face another day’s lab work. Her stomach turned sideways at the thought of having to meet with Vegeta. She’d not been awake for long before she heard her roommates stirring.

“We should have saved some of that.” One of them said gazing forlornly at the now empty box of treats. Bulma had secreted away her pot of precious moisturiser, but everything else she had shared and it had not lasted long.

“I still think it’s crazy that Si’eth got all that for you guys.” Another piped up, slightly suffering from the previous evening’s alcohol consumption. “Think he’s got a thing for you, B?”

“I doubt it,” she replied with a nervous laugh, “I think it’s just a reward for putting up with the Prince of all Assholes for so long.”

“Yeah, remind me again why it’s gotta be you that does that?”

“Because I’m the best.” She joked, hoping to deflect the questioner. She was partially successful, for though her companion was clearly unconvinced she didn’t ask again. It was then agreed by the room at large that, though more inclined than ever to remain in bed, they’d better make a move or they’d all be late.

She could hardly eat at breakfast, but with the number of her roommates suffering hangovers she avoided all suspicion of having any peculiar reason. Instead she sat poking at her food, simultaneously restless and yet dreading to move. In the end she put off leaving the breakfast hall until the last possible moment, and rose with the last of her fellow diners, but once she was on her feet anxiety quickened her pace. The mere act of reaching out to press the door switch made her swoon with anxious nausea.

The door slid open, and there was no Vegeta there. On the contrary, everything was as it usually was at that hour, right down to Si’eth fussing over the equipment.

“No director, huh?” She joked nervously.

“He’ll be along after lunch.” Si’eth replied. “In the meantime we need to start working on the exterior mounted scouters. You said you had ideas?”

She sighed. With the gnawing anxiety she was feeling it would be a long and difficult morning.

 

*   *   *

 

Lunchtime came and went and Bulma was following her labmates back to the lab. She had again left it as late as possible and so was the last in, with the exception of Si’eth who was surprisingly absent.

“Si’eth? He’s in the theatre with Director Vegeta.” Replied an engineer tensely, keeping his voice low so as not to be overheard by the two in the adjoining room. “He was here before anyone and demanded that Si’eth complete the functions himself.”

Bulma felt for a moment like her stomach had dropped through the floor. She wished fervently that she’d not eaten even the small amount that she had. 

“H-he did?” Her eyes fixed on the theatre door. “Did ...did he say why?”

“Only that he didn’t want to wait for you.” He stared at her, his face mirroring the concern and tension that she now felt palpable in the room. “Bulma, what did you  _ do  _ yesterday?”

It took her too long to reply, and her mouth hung open for so long that she couldn’t avoid attracting the suspicion of the room. She tried to look natural as she stepped towards her terminal but she couldn’t remember what a casual walk looked like.

“I didn’t do anything! Just the functions.” She sat down on a stool, so as to appear less awkward. “I must have made a mistake somewhere…”

“He looked pretty mad when he got in.” Added a healer. “Even worse than yesterday. You must have done  _ something  _ to offend him.”

Bulma was silent, praying her look of incredulity would suffice. Of course she had done something to offend him almost every time they’d been alone together, but this time she’d crossed a line, and she didn’t know how she was going to claw the situation back.

She pretended to work but her constant glances at the theatre door belied her anxious confusion. In desperation she considered calling out for Ala, but she feared her judgement almost as much as she feared finally confronting Vegeta. All she could do was wait.

 

* * *

 

 

“I’m sorry, Director, I don’t know why the function won’t load.” Si’eth’s assistant was desperately tapping away at the terminal, trying to understand Bulma’s custom software. They’d never considered that anyone else would ever have to use it, so no-one else had been trained, and when they had tried to use the software from older scouter versions it crashed. The technician glanced anxiously at the clock, dreading the rapidly oncoming last hour of the work day. “You say that you left a function unfinished last night?”

Vegeta nodded tersely.

“But why would Bulma do that?” This was to Si’eth, who stood nearby visibly sweating. “She knows better than that, it’s stuck in a boot-loop now.”

“I could go ask her-”

“No.” Vegeta growled. “You are the overseer here, you should know how to do this.”

“You’re right, and as soon as possible I will have Bulma show me how to use her equipment but for now I must recommend that we-”

“I never expected this incompetence from  _ you _ of all people.” He hissed, genuinely furious. He’d badly wanted to avoid meeting today. He wasn’t sure if he  _ ever  _ wanted to meet with her again, but thanks to the foolish lack of foresight from his previously most-trusted hand he was going to be forced into company with her before he’d had even the chance to decide how angry he should be.

He was so confused. He was angry but he hardly knew why. Or that is to say, he knew why but didn’t like what it said about himself. The fact was that the emotions she was forcing him to feel were too complicated, and downright shameful, and it was so much easier to process them into anger, so he was angry.

He was also suspicious. The previous night, and immediately after her ill-fated attempt, he’d taken refuge in his rooms and paced them like a caged tiger for nearly an hour, going from sofa, to table, to bed ad nauseam. His thoughts were a tumbling mess, every point repeating itself so frequently that he never had time to focus on a single one of them. Eventually he tried to settle himself to sleep but a trip into his bathroom forced his mind onto an unpleasant track.

There was a single small mirror in there that was fixed to the wall. Despite his habit of avoiding it he’d accidentally caught a glimpse of himself, and for once did not look away. He made himself look at his reflection long and hard, his memory filling in the parts that were covered by Bulma’s excellent work. He’d never thought of himself as handsome even before his injuries, striking perhaps but never handsome, but the loss of his eye and his burnt skin could only sink his self-image lower. He followed with his fingers the snarled red skin that disappeared up into his hairline and again for the scars that, just missing the corner of his mouth, descended below his jaw. He was missing a chunk of ear. What could she possibly see that he didn’t?

What if she was trying to dupe him?

It made more sense than the idea that she might find him attractive. Then suspicion seized him and he ran with it, replaying all their interactions in his mind to see how they might fit this new motive. Undoubtedly Bulma was a clever woman, and she made no effort to hide the fact. Was she using her feminine attributes to try to gain something from him? If so, what?

After tossing through a poor night’s sleep he’d dressed, eaten and took himself to every other lab under his direction, ostensibly for progress reports but really to buy himself time to decide the best course of action. Before the morning was over he’d resolved on cutting Bulma out of the operation entirely, relying on Si’eth’s knowledge instead, and was waiting for him in the lab as the staff filtered in from their lunch hour.

He had his excuse of course; the scouter was malfunctioning. Since leaving the last function test incomplete the previous evening the on-board firmware had crashed and hadn’t responded to any of his input for several hours. He’d informed Si’eth of this and ordered him to pick his most experienced engineer to restore functionality, further stipulating that the bungling human was to be excluded due to her incompetence. And now he was here, watching the hatefully slow progress of the unfortunate mole-like creature as it desperately tried to hash together a solution to a problem it didn’t fully understand. He wanted badly to smack someone.

He had growled his permission at Si’eth, who was that moment scurrying to the theatre door to call to her. At least he would have the opportunity to observe her entrance, and perhaps from her manner deduce something of use. Her scent filled his head as she entered the room, almost enough to distract him from his careful scrutiny.

She was nervous: he could see her hands clasping and unclasping at her sides; the slight bow of her normally upright frame; the smaller, uncertain steps she took. All these things bespoke worry. At least if she’d been confident as usual he’d have been able to surmise that she was an uninvested actor, but he knew she was too smart for that. She’d know that it would be better to affect a humble approach, so whether genuine or false the effect was the same, and Vegeta’s anger only increased.

Si’eth scuttled self-consciously to the woman and began to inform her in a low voice what was required before Vegeta, further incensed by what he perceived as disrespectful muttering, snapped his orders personally.

“Woman, your incompetence last night has left this scouter unuseable and your further lack of foresight means that not one other person in this lab knows how to fix it. Why is that?”

“It’s probably hit stand-by and then been unable to restart.” She said, nervously chewing her own thumbnail. She sidled over to her laptop screen. “You managed to connect it at least,” she said to the technician as she gently moved past, “so I should be able to manually erase that function then reset the systems. Hopefully the functions from last night will still be stored...”

She began to flick through the numbers on her screen, frowning and still biting her thumb. He glared at her in angry silence.

“But why didn’t you save them last night?” Tremored the technician in confusion.

“Umm,” she paused, peeling a chunk of her nail away with her teeth, “I mean, I meant to, but there wasn’t, uh, Captain Vegeta needed, um, and I didn’t have time to-”

He stared at her in momentary disbelief before cutting her off with a hand gesture.

“If all you two can do is distract her then you can leave.” He snapped, painfully aware that her uncharacteristic babbling was highly suspect. “Why I left early is my own business. Yours is to fix this mess.”

Bulma swallowed and turned the whole of her attention to her laptop. The other two, taking the hint, bowed hastily from the room, leaving him in spite of his efforts once again alone with the woman. 

 

* * *

 

 

“So,” Bulma sighed almost as soon at the door clicked shut, “here we are again.”

“I think I made it clear that I want as little to do with you as possible, woman.”

“Well, yeah, you did. Both last night  _ and _ just now. Sneaking in while I was out hammered that home.”

Facing her laptop she had no way to gauge his reaction, but she’d taken the first sting of his anger now. It seemed that the worst of all her agonies had been the waiting, and now she was actually here a calm had descended over her. Her own anger was nothing now, his almost comical petulance had driven her nearer to laughter instead. Some distance, she decided, was called for and she left him to stew for a while, occasionally glancing his way as she worked. For once she actually had to concentrate anyway. He wasn’t wrong about her having left a mess.

She typed and sighed and once swore under her breath at a forced re-boot, but after several long and awkward minutes she decided to try again.

“Do you think,” she said, turning a wry smile slightly towards him but not looking away from her screen, “that one day we can meet in this room without me apologizing to you for something?”

She heard him shift slightly, moving to the edge of the chair. He held the silence for longer than she expected, but she kept her patience and waited.

“That depends on you, doesn’t it?” He muttered finally.

“I can’t argue with you this time.” She laughed drily. “And for what it’s worth I  _ am _ sorry.”

He snorted disbelievingly.

“No, really,” she said as she force booted the crashed software, “I never should have acted like that without asking you first; it was never my intention to make you uncomfortable.”

This was succeeded by another silence, and Bulma let it drag out while she searched through the logs for the corrupted data.

“What was your intention then?” His question was asked quietly, in a level monotone.

“I ...don’t really know.” She frowned, flicking through timestamps looking for the culprit. “I was there, and you were there, I thought we were having fun and I just ...I took it a step too far I guess.” She grimaced. “I suppose if I’d asked you first you could have told me up-front that you weren’t interested.”

“That’s not-” He began but cut himself off immediately. She turned her head slightly to catch his reflection on the glossy wall tiles but he had turned away from her.

“It’s ok, I’m not upset.” She said almost truthfully. “Anyway, I’ve apologized now, and I hope we can go back to being friends.”

“You considered us friends?” He queried, facing her again. She laughed and spun her stool to meet his gaze.

“Well, yeah. What would you call it?”

“I’d never considered it.”

“Come on, two people who work together, talk, laugh?” She shook her head pityingly. “You wouldn’t call that friendship?”

“I think you and I have different notions of what that word means.” He muttered.

“Hmm. I guess we do.” Having long run out of thumbnail she resorted to chewing her lip. “I didn’t really act like a friend last night, did I? More like a drunken prom date.”

“What’s a prom date?” He asked, trying to hide his curiosity. “Though from context I would guess some sort of prostitute.”

“OK that’s quite enough, thank  _ you _ .” Bulma retorted, pleased that he was relaxed enough to insult her. “A prom is a kind of party that young humans go to when they finish their education, and a date is the person you take with you as, um, a dance partner I guess? But it has romantic connotations. Like, you would take someone you wanted to-”

A knock on the door drew the attention of both. After receiving a curt nod from the prince she opened it to admit Si’eth.

“Prince-Captain, the lab is just about to close up. I’ve come to enquire as to whether I might be needed any further this evening.”

Vegeta snorted derisively and leaned back with a sneer. “If I need someone to stand around telling me they don’t know what they’re doing I’ll be sure to send for you.”

The end-of-day chime sounded. Si’eth bowed stiffly and retreated from the room, Bulma’s sympathetic grimace apparently unnoticed by him. Vegeta, however, had not missed it.

“What?” He snapped at her.

“Did I say anything?”

“No, but you want to.”

“So, what do you care?” She shrugged.

“Just spit it out.” He growled.

“Fine, if you must know, I don’t think you were particularly fair to Si’eth just now.” As expected his face darkened at her criticism, but she ploughed on regardless. “He’s by far your best physician, and if it weren’t for his intervention I wouldn’t be in this lab fixing this kick-ass scouter right now. Though maybe now you’re starting to wish I  _ wasn’t _ , huh?”

“I can’t make up my mind.” He said after a few seconds thought. “In spite of every bit of offence you’ve given me I can’t deny your usefulness.”

“Just my usefulness, hmm?” She sighed and turned back to her laptop. “It’s not entirely Si’eth’s fault that he can’t work my machines. For one thing he’s a doctor, not a technician, and for another ...well, I didn’t really want to show him.”

She didn’t need to look, she could  _ feel _ his narrowed eye fix on her. Further explanation was silently demanded and she obliged.

“Aside from it being my project, and not really having enough time to train anyone else, I was ...enjoying this.”

“Enjoying  _ what, _ precisely?”

She felt her face colour and grit her teeth. “Being important, I guess? Being ‘useful’, as you put it. And then - like I told you last night - I was starting to enjoy your company, and I’d convinced myself that you didn’t dislike mine-”

“Stop.” He muttered, sullen again. “That’s enough.”

“Which part?” She demanded, finally facing him again somewhat crossly.

“Just, everything.” He swung his legs over the chair and started to pace around the theatre. “Stop pretending to be my friend. I don’t know what your game is or what you’re trying to pull, but I will not sit here and be insulted by you.”

“Vegeta, this is insane.” She couldn’t help but sigh her exasperation. “Is it so hard for you to believe that someone likes you for who you-”

“The only thing insane about this is that you still think you can convince me this nice-girl act is genuine!” He stopped his pacing to glare at her.

“God, you are so thick-headed!” Bulma threw up her hands in frustration. “Why would I tell you I liked you if I didn’t, huh? What could I possibly gain from dealing with this temper tantrum you’re having now? I even  _ told _ you that I didn’t like you by choice, damn it.” She didn’t even realise that she’d slid off her stool until she was already advancing on him. “I can’t help being nice, because I’m a  _ good person _ you freak. It is  _ normal _ to want to be friends with people you work with, it is  _ fucking normal _ to start to like people you have to spend a lot of time with and it is  _ really  _ fucking normal to find yourself a little bit attracted to the only male that comes even  _ close _ to resembling your own species- hey! I’m talking to you!”

He had turned away and raised his hand as if to silence her but she refused. Instead she raised her own arm within his reach, forcing herself before him.

“Why is this so hard for you?” Her voice shook as she spoke. “Damn it, is violence literally the only thing you know how to cope with?!”

He tried to back away from her, still avoiding eye contact. 

“Look at me!” She stepped forward and in a fit of pique smacked her open palm against his chest plate. Shocked and confused, he obeyed. “Are you kidding me? Well fine, if violence is all you’ll understand then have some!”

She raised her own pitifully small fist, intending to pound it against his chest plate again, but he caught it instinctively and pulled her arm out to the side. 

“Bulma,” he murmured, his voice low, “stop.”

Undeterred she attempted the same with her other hand, only to have herself again restrained. This arm too was pulled out to her side to prevent further attempted battery but with the unintended effect of pulling their bodies much closer together than either of them had anticipated. So close, in fact, that Bulma could feel his breath against her face, and just from its irregular rhythm knew how truly unnerved he was, in spite of his cold facade.

How long they stood together like that, their bodies in some places barely an inch apart, would always be up for debate, and to Bulma it felt like an age. Already unintentionally intimate in their position, the occupation of their forelimbs made each all the more vulnerable to the other, and despite her temper of a moment ago it was with great difficulty that Bulma could prevent herself from closing the few centimetres that separated their mouths. His grip on her wrists slackened, but she didn’t try to pull her arms back.

“Vegeta…” She whispered. “It’s ok. This is ok.”

They stood like that for almost another minute, each listening to the other’s breathing with silent intensity. He smelled good, she hoped she did too. For one beautiful moment she thought he was trying to kiss her but he pulled back so sharply and with such a visible tensing of his neck and shoulders that she couldn’t mistake it for what it was. Her stomach felt like it was full of bubbles.

“I don’t mind if ...if you want to …” She trailed off, rallied, tried again; “I won’t if you don’t want me to. You don’t have to say ...just ...just nod.”

The pause seemed impossibly long, and for a moment Bulma despaired, but then, almost missed in her maelstrom of emotions, the tiniest inclining of his chin, he nodded.

She closed the gap between them with as much care as possible, restraining herself with all the discipline at her command. She would not be pressing her tipsy face against his and hoping for the best this time.

With extreme gentleness, Bulma wet her lips and brought them to touch his, and waited. Her patience was well rewarded by his lifting his chin just a fraction. The small pressure thus created encouraged her to add to it with her own. He parted his lips infinitesimally, the thrill of which nearly cost Bulma her self-command. She responded, and opened her mouth against his, persuading him to do likewise.

His grip on her wrists had become a feather-light touch now, and she slowly slid one hand down his arm, taking the time to appreciate his firm muscles through his skin tight battle-suit. His hand still hovered in mid-air, its owner not sure how to employ it, so she gently coaxed his arm downwards until his hand rested gingerly on her waist. She wet her lips again without breaking from his, thus for the first time introducing her tongue to their kiss.

She reclaimed her other hand and brought it to rest between his neck and shoulder, her thumb gently tracing the strong line of his jaw. This time he was able to find her body himself, placing his hand on her hip. She stepped into his awkward embrace, and while he allowed their bodies to touch she deepened the kiss as far as she dared. The moment her probing tongue met his he drew back involuntarily, but she felt exulting triumph as he returned by his own volition to return the exploratory touch.

He was nervous, inexperienced. Part of her was disappointed, but at the same time she felt the excitement inherent of being perhaps the only woman to ever have touched him this way. He’d certainly never been kissed, judging by his behaviour.

She placed one hand on his chest, the other continuing to stroke his face. His hand, to her delight, was sliding slowly up her waist, teasing the fabric of her tunic. He seemed to enjoy the sensation of it bunching up between his gloved fingers as he explored further up her body. She bit his lip experimentally, and was rewarded by a small noise of surprise and pleasure from his highness. He responded by sliding his tongue tentatively into her mouth, and she widened her jaw to accommodate it, allowing her own gentle moan to issue.

The hand that had been involving itself with her tunic clenched into a fist, and she felt the fingers of his other hand press against her, pulling her hips firmly against his. She found his height, or lack of, to be advantageous in that the swelling erection she was beginning to enjoy was pressed against her groin at a particularly pleasing angle. She grasped his chestplate, sliding her fingertips just under the edge of his neckline to grant herself enough purchase to gently grind her middle against his. The effect was immediate.

He inhaled sharply, his grip on her tightening as he gasped, opening his mouth wider. It seemed however she’d finally pushed her luck too far; he released her immediately, and put several inches of air between them. As he stepped back he still avoided eye contact, failing to disguise his shaking hands.

“You’re right.” Bulma panted, trying to force brightness into her voice. “W-we still have work to do.”

Neither of them moved however. Vegeta visibly struggled for self control while Bulma, trying not to stare openly at his receding erection nor express her disappointment at being parted from it, dared not move. Instead she waited until he was master of himself enough to raise his eye to her. She gestured anxiously to his operating chair, into which he dutifully placed himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to apologise for the lengthy wait you guys have had for this chapter. Whilst I do support the notion that artists producing for free and can go at their own pace yadiyada I had set myself targets for this and have not hit many of them. My defence is merely that I got a mortgage in March, a (HUGE) dog in April, and from June to about now I've been rather ill (nothing life threatening, but been too gross and hot to do much other than lie in front of the fan after walking my massive dog).
> 
> So yeah, sorry, sorry, sorry, the good shit is coming, I promise, thank you for reading (thank you so so so much) and thank you for being patient and waiting so nicely for updates. Love to you all.
> 
> BIG shout out to Rutbisbe of Tumblr for the amazing artwork - please go check her out: http://rutbisbe.tumblr.com/


	12. Exploration

 

_ “It was amazing, right?” Radditz gushed over his drink. Vegeta grunted in response, gave a half hearted shrug. He couldn’t quite agree. “She loved it too, the little slut.” _

_ Vegeta pretended to drink his beverage so as to avoid having to answer. _

_ “You idiot,” guffawed a soldier, “they pretend to like it so they’ll get more money out of you!” _

_ Do they? Vegeta didn’t think so. His whore had made no such pretence. _

_ “No, she  _ showed  _ me she liked it!” Radditz responded heatedly, and then drunkenly started to relay the repulsive noises she’d made. Vegeta notwithstanding, he had a receptive audience, and their boisterous laughter filled the bordello. _

_ What had he done wrong? Why had Radditz mastered this most natural of things while he could not? No-one had even told him that the woman could enjoy it, but then had anyone told Radditz? Their educations had been parallel, he could not remember any one material point in which Radditz had received more schooling than him. And this act, this carnal husbandry, was what so many species relied on to procreate, it had to be instinctive, innate. By that reasoning it was unsurprising that a boy with as little experience as Radditz would still be able to perform admirably, because his body knew what to do. He concluded that the difference was not some extraordinary talent on Radditz’s part, but some severe deficiency on his own. _

_ He handed his drink off to Nappa and declared he was going to bed. _

_ “Ah, I understand, a lot of guys get dozy after their first time.” He winked. “Go sleep it off, your highness - and congratulations again!” _

_ Vegeta curled his lip in barely hidden disgust and turned from them. _

 

* * *

 

His head was swimming as it hit the pillow. Everything was confusion, contradiction. One moment he was stunned by the conviction that she wanted him, then the next he was trying to argue himself out of it. There must be some mistake, he thought, she can’t be serious. Perhaps this was some sort of Earth custom that he was unfamiliar with, or just how she behaved with men in general. He recoiled sharply from that last thought, but it left troubling ideas. How many men had she touched like that? Had they known how to touch her back? Was she even now comparing his childish performance to theirs? His imagination painted her laughing derisively at his pitiful attempt.

But could she have behaved so well after he’d finally submitted if that was really how she felt? She’d been unfailingly friendly, supportive even. After repairing the crashed software it was only a matter of hours before she’d also mopped up the last of the scouter functions. They were finished in time for evening meals. He remembered the parting vividly.

“That’s it, we’re finally done.”

He recalled the tension between them as she’d uttered those fatal words. They both knew this was the end to all pretence; they could no longer meet privately without having to admit their objects were each other.

“What do you want to do?” She’d asked him. What a question, how could he ever answer it? It had been hours since and he still didn’t know the answer. She’d waited patiently, then leaned forward over the operating chair to lightly touch his gloved hand with her little one.

“If you don’t want to do this again, that’s ok. And if you do ...that’s also ok.  _ More _ than ok...” Then she leaned closer, her lips brushed his again and-

He shuddered, repulsed by his body’s response to the memory of her second embrace but unable to prevent it from occupying him. She’d touched him in very much the same manner as before, and just as the first time he was paralysed. She made him feel a kind of reassurance that was alien to him, some kind of safety. And she made him feel the hunger he thought he wasn’t capable of. And she made him feel like the sleep-eat-work routine that had kept him alive was no longer enough. She simply made him  _ feel _ . Emotions long repressed rushed in on him. His anger he had never managed to fully purge, but now he could identify embarrassment, attraction, hope, friendship, admiration all smothering the simmering rage that had been his emotional baseline for so many years.

He did want to do it again, and more. He’d die before he’d admit it openly before anyone - even her - but he wanted desperately to know what else there was to feel.

The anger he’d felt that morning he could now see as the smokescreen it really was. He was scared. He stood at the precipice of a completely unknown experience, and with no safety net to protect him from looking the fool. If he let go and tried to reciprocate it wouldn’t take long for him to humiliate himself with his lack of practical knowledge, and yet to do nothing would be surely worse. 

He recalled her hand, on his, guiding it to her hips again as she raised her own to caress his neck. She’d pulled his head forward, subtly teaching him with the gentle pressure of her hand how to kiss her mouth. It sent thrills running through him.

He had to see her again. 

“I think I’ll be working late tomorrow night.” She’d whispered against his mouth when they broke for air. Her voice was husky. “We’ve fallen behind the last couple nights, I’ll have some catching up to do.”

He’d only nodded in response, and let her kiss him again. Even now he could still taste her, or he imagined he could at least. He turned on his side with a dissatisfied grunt, trying to ignore the slight ache between his legs. He’d been warned of the dangers of leaving an erection unattended to, and this evening he’d had several.

Sleep did come to him, defying his expectation, and to the inventions of his subconscious he had to necessarily submit. His dreams that night were very vivid, and very blue.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

There had been fewer enquiries at dinner than previously, for which Bulma was grateful, although she didn’t care for the reasons. Si’eth had been in a pretty dark mood since leaving the lab and his gloom had spread to his staff. She hadn’t entirely escaped, and still had lies to tell, but at least now she could finally say that the scouter was completely operational.

She’d escaped to her room as soon as possible, not difficult considering how late she’d made it to dinner, and gone straight to bed. She would have been mortified if anyone else had known just how excited her tryst with the prince had made her, as a trip to the bathroom to hide the evidence had left her in no doubt of that herself. She slept through the night, and woke with one question dominating her mind: how to proceed.

He would meet her tonight, she was almost certain of it. The way he’d responded to her, letting her lead him through his discomfort, it made her tingle. Though at first unsure, she was now starting to relish the thought of taking his inexperience in hand, at least during the moments that weren’t plagued with worry.

The fact remained that she had no idea when Ala intended to enact her plans, and she was increasingly forgetting to bear that in mind. Sure, she could pursue Vegeta, with all the difficulties inherent in such a route, but then would she simply disappear the moment Ala decided it was time to move? Part of her whispered to stay ...but the faces of her terrified mother and father quieted that selfish desire.

And anyway, she reasoned, stay for what? For a man who openly admitted that he didn’t even think of her as a friend? For a man who was only just allowing her to kiss him? She could stay to be a cog in a slave machine, working until she was no longer useful and was thrown out like worthless chaff, or she could escape and fight for the freedom of herself and her people. It wasn’t worth throwing away every hope for her future over a flirtation that she was almost eighty percent certain had its roots in her captivity-induced restlessness! He wouldn’t have gotten a second look from her on Earth, but here he had the advantage of consequence, and of being the only man she’d seen who could pass entirely as human, albeit with very unusual hair.

But that placed her own actions in a guilty light. Every step towards intimacy had been made by her alone, without honest reference to his feelings or desires. She pursued him for selfish reasons, pride, lust and similar, and had only now considered that to draw him into a compromised emotional state just to leave him without explanation was a heinous thing to do. She also realised that, even armed with this self-knowledge, she wasn’t going to stop. She would be in that lab after the chime.

She ought to speak to Ala, but they weren’t due to meet until the following cycle. She considered reaching out and pulling on the threads of mental connection that Ala had purposefully left hanging, but was afraid of being told to forgo her evening appointment. Instead she prepared for her day’s work, claiming fatigue to those companions who noticed her distraction.

Though she didn’t expect him in the lab she was still disappointed to not find him waiting there. She tried to focus on her work instead but everything seemed insufferably tedious, and the conversation of her coworkers insipid. The morning wore on in this manner, with Bulma disinterestedly trudging through her tasks while letting her brain ponder matters outside of the lab. Again the issues presented by growing too attached to him - in particular those relevant to her involvement with the resistance - and likewise the anxiety of not really knowing  _ his _ mind gnawed at her. The only reflection that didn’t give her pain was her surety of seeing him again that evening, and as her worries about the present and far future clustered her mind she more frequently indulged her imagination on this point.

The door hissed open and she snapped to attention immediately. She hadn’t expected him so early, and hadn’t considered how best to react to his presence amid observers. Her mild panic was unnecessary however, as the tall, graceful figure that sauntered through the door was not her Prince-Captain Director. It was a man she had seen only once, and from a distance, but who she knew immediately. The memory of Vegeta’s battered face, only recently recovered, flew to the forefront of her mind as Zarbon entered the lab.

“Zarbon, sir!” Si’eth exclaimed. “What a pleasure, we weren’t expecting you.”

He turned his handsome yellow eyes - narrow, calculating she now thought - onto her overseer and smiled benevolently. The smile didn’t reach them.

“I was just passing by and thought I’d spare a minute for an inspection.” He laughed without real mirth and tossed his long, shining braid back over his shoulder carelessly. “Even  _ directors _ need a little oversight, wouldn’t you agree?”

Si’eth just bowed, trying to smile politely, but he was clearly out of his depth. The man was honest to a fault and had never understood the subtleties that Zarbon communicated in. To Si’eth an inspection - unwelcome as they always were - was merely that, and to a man who kept his lab in as good an order as Si’eth did they were nothing to fear. Bulma was not convinced. She stood straighter and focussed physically on her work while her mind busily listed everything she knew about Zarbon.

He was Lord Freeza’s right hand, and apparently very strong. It was also claimed that he nursed a severe antagonism towards Vegeta, and if it was true that he had been the originator of Vegeta’s most recent injuries then she could well believe both points. Her information was scanty and heavily reliant on the rumour-mill, but she was given to understand that beyond a general and mutual dislike, Zarbon’s distaste was elevated to hatred by Vegeta’s unexpected victory against Dodoria, who by all accounts had been Zarbon’s close friend. She dared to lift her eyes briefly.

He was moving around the lab, listening and nodding to everything Si’eth had to say. The staff got on with their business, and if anyone thought it was odd that one of Freeza’s highest ranked men was curious enough to inspect them they didn’t show it.

“It won’t be long until we see these scouters rolled out to the forces then.” Zarbon said, nodding approvingly.

Ah yes, Bulma thought to herself bitterly, the second wave implementation. It was her current assignment, slimming down her current build into something that could be worn externally but operated the same way, with brain implants to send and receive signals to external scouters. Equipping Freeza’s soldiers was almost as bad as shooting the blasters herself, and she didn’t relish it. Furthermore, it only came down to the input, because Vegeta’s scouter was plugged directly into his optical nerve and sent most of its information via that conduit, whereas the externally mounted scouters only had retina displays. Without inventing an entirely new method of feedback - which would require completely re-tooled brain receptors - all they were really doing was performing invasive and dangerous surgery so that some individuals could operated their functionally unchanged scouters without using their hands. She shuddered to think of the pain and loss of life they expected from the testing phase alone.

He turned in her direction and she dropped her eyes immediately, but she wasn’t quick enough. For the barest instant they made eye contact. She tried to project calm unconcern, as if it was just a coincidence that she’d been looking in that direction, and whether or not he’d have noticed her eventually the point was moot for he  _ had _ noticed her now.

“Ah, is  _ this _ what Vegeta picked up from Earth?”

“Y-yes, that is F-735-CCB.” Si’eth answered in confusion, only just remembering to use her personnel ID. “She has been assisting me since the reconstruction-”

“Of course,” Zarbon drawled expressively, “I recall that our dear Prince decided in his wisdom to transfer her from her assigned laboratory to place her in his, ah,  _ personal  _ medical team.  _ Quite _ the misappropriation of resources, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I don’t ...that is ...we serve the Emperor, Lord Zarbon.” Was his confused response. “We report to Prince Vegeta on Emperor Freeza’s orders-”

“Yes, yes.” Zarbon cut him off. “I do  _ love _ to be reminded of my authority in this laboratory being countermanded. But then if I’d had my way and euthanised the poor bastard we wouldn’t have this wonderful new technology to play with now. Silver linings, and all that.”

All this was said very close to Bulma, for Zarbon had moved leisurely towards her as he spoke. She was seething. Her regard for Vegeta might be new, and its strength yet unknown, but to hear this stranger speak so disrespectfully about him in what was essentially his own laboratory was almost too much for her. She wanted to raise herself up and give him a piece of her mind, but some vestigial instinct of self-preservation kept her silent. She didn’t look up but in her periphery she could see he was looking at her, like he was trying to get her attention. She stubbornly refused the bait.

“Supposedly this is what the mammalian species find attractive nowadays. I’m given to understand there was an altercation with a foot soldier regarding her.” Zarbon continued. “That’s what the fight with Cui was about, no?”

“I’m ...not quite sure.”

“We’ll ask her, shall we? Human, attention please. You are being addressed.”

She could avoid it no longer. She lifted a coldly aggressive glare to meet Zarbon’s, and was met with cool amusement.

“Could you enlighten us as to the facts that resulted in Vegeta’s recent Arena fight?” He asked, his politeness clearly mocking.

As if he didn’t  _ fucking know _ . She didn’t want to remember this. For the first time since it had happened she’d managed to go nearly two days without thinking about it at all and now this puffed-up, smooth-talking smarmy piece of shit was going to make her recount  _ that night _ . The night she’d almost died - and worse. Everyone knew, except possibly Si’eth who was as ever dense to all matters of gossip. Calm-and-collected Vegeta killed a man over one of ‘his’ slaves, and reparations were demanded, of course it was common gossip. What was this creep’s game?

“Director Vegeta found me in a  _ less-than-desirable  _ situation with two soldiers answerable to one Captain Cui, and those soldiers were punished appropriately.” She answered, trying and failing to keep the venom from her voice. Her hands were shaking with both fear and anger. “Captain Cui didn’t approve of Director Vegeta’s decision and challenged him in the Arena, which as you probably remember ended really well for him.”

Zarbon burst out laughing.

“Freeza’s balls! You have guts, Earthling, I’ll give you that.”

She didn’t reply, but stood to attention waiting to be dismissed. He held her there a few moments longer, as if waiting to see if she’d say anything else, before laughing again and moving on to another part of the lab. She silently released the breath she’d been holding in.

 

* * *

 

 

Vegeta was genuinely thrilled to find that he had an unlooked-for excuse to visit Si’eth’s lab that day. He’d found no fault with the scouter, of course, but by a stroke of luck the data that Si’eth had sent him the night before was corrupted. He would be able to step in on his way to another part of the compound, and in doing so hoped to confirm by some conspiratorial glance whether or not Bulma meant what she said.

He had been debating with himself since his first moment of waking. He didn’t trust his own recollection anymore - his own wishes might have distorted the memory - and this chance to see her, to try to see in her expression the same encouragement he thought he had last night, was now his main object. So deeply was he entrenched in these thoughts that he barely had time to stop himself walking into Zarbon.

Zarbon was in his lab. Talking to his staff. Inspecting his work. Without Vegeta’s supervision or authority.

_ Bulma _ .

His quick eye found her immediately, anxiously examining her face for any indication of her emotional state. Her head was bent furtively over her work, her face as grim as it was when he’d first picked her up from Earth. He remembered very well the strong set of her lip and how her sharp eyes seemed hardened to gemstones. She was angry.

Vegeta had no idea what lows Zarbon would stoop to, though from past experience he was inclined to assume his worst estimation to be still too generous. If it had been up to Zarbon alone he wouldn’t be alive to glare at him now.

“Ah, Vegeta! How fortuitous. I was just quizzing your assistant about these new scouters you plan to manufacture. I thought it would be a pity to complete my inspection without seeing my good friend, and here you are.”

Si’eth tried covertly to look apologetic. Subterfuge did not suit him.

“My reports reach the appropriate destinations.” Vegeta responded coldly. “If you don’t happen to receive them then I don’t see that you need to waste your valuable time in needless inspections.”

Zarbon smirked, flexed subtly. “I think to satisfy my own curiosity I might be pardoned the liberty.” And here Zarbon glanced meaningfully at Bulma, a gesture as unmistakable as it was intentional. He knew.

No, Vegeta rationalised firmly against his rising alarm, he didn’t know anything. He only suspected, and was trying to elicit a response from him. Vegeta forced himself to appear impassive.

“Suit yourself. It’s your own business what you do with your free time. Si’eth, the data you sent me yesterday is corrupted, send it again.”

He barely waited for Si’eth’s flustered acquiescence, he had to leave. Zarbon could not be allowed to think that Vegeta had any other reason to be there than work. Besides which, Bulma still diligently avoided looking at him. While frustrated that his hopes of affirmation were thus thwarted he was oddly proud of her self-command.

“Where are you off to so quickly,  _ Director. _ ” Zarbon queried.

“I have other labs you know.” Vegeta retorted calmly. “I’m overdue to inspect the Saibamen development team.”

“In that case allow me to join you - I’m going that way.” And before Vegeta knew what was happening Zarbon had crossed the lab and fallen into step with him. Neither of them took leave of Si’eth.

Vegeta attempted to walk in silence; he had nothing to say to Zarbon and wouldn’t be induced to start a conversation. Zarbon had no such scruple however.

“So that’s what the lower orders are willing to kill for these days. I can’t say I understand the appeal, but each to their own.”

Vegeta didn’t understand, but as he neither wanted to encourage Zarbon nor display his ignorance he held his silence.

“I’m not saying she isn’t pretty, but hardly worth endangering one’s career over.”

Now he understood, and he seethed.

“You listen to too much gossip, Zarbon.” Vegeta tried to sound nonchalant. “My interest in that lab begins and ends with how they can be useful to me, and to Lord Freeza.”

“So you said during our little match, but really this pretence is most unnecessary between such old friends.”

Zarbon was about to say something further but Vegeta stopped suddenly.

“Is something wrong?”

Vegeta gestured impassively at the door to his right. “This is my stop.”

And with that he passed silently into the lab he had indicated, half-expecting Zarbon to follow him. To his satisfaction, however, Zarbon chuckled and went his own way, leaving Vegeta to ponder his allusions. One thing above all was clear to him; he had been far too incautious, and resolving to meet her again so soon after Zarbon’s interference was a symptom of that.

He continued as rationally as he could, inspecting all of the labs under his jurisdiction in the course of the day. His overseers performed admirably, with very little oversight required from him, and if he was distracted while they were reporting to him then it went unnoticed.

 

*   *   *

 

He stood outside her lab door nearly a full minute before he had enough resolve to slide the door open. He’d angled himself so that he wouldn’t be observable through the small viewing window. She wasn’t in the lab proper, but he could hear her bustling around in the operating theatre. The chime that marked the end of the lab’s working day would have been at least an hour ago, all her colleagues were long gone, along with their noise and confusing smells. He placed his takeaway boxes on the counter.

He nearly hadn’t come. He’d certainly meant to wait longer if he did but his curiosity was too intense. At the very least he wanted to talk to her, and be certain that she had said nothing of value to that rat Zarbon, and at most ...well, he didn’t really know. Every time he began to consider what he actually wanted from her he reflexively slammed down on any train of thought in pre-emptive self-disgust. Still, he at least knew what he didn’t want, and it was to be greeted by a tapping foot and a scowl.

“You took your sweet time time.”

“Excuse me?” He replied, his temper flaring in response to hers.

“The lab closed an hour ago and I’ve just been screwing around in here trying to look legitimately busy. ‘Late’ doesn’t even cover it.”

“I think you’ll find that in order for me to be ‘late’ there must have first been an agreed arrival time.”

She opened her clever mouth to argue but paused, apparently unable to a form a rebuttal.

“Well?”

“Ok fine,” she conceded more gently, “but still, you might have made it a bit sooner. I’d almost given up on you.”

“Humph. I intended to arrive later than this, I’m only here this early because I needed to know what Zarbon said to you.”

“And what  _ I  _ said to  _ him _ , right? Oh don’t look at me like that, I know what you’re worried about.” She relaxed her posture and leaned against a counter. Vegeta found himself suddenly very aware of the swell of her hips beneath her tunic, and surprised he’d never noticed it before. He was as ever glad that she could not read minds. “He came in, was shitty about you (I won’t insult your intelligence by repeating any of that) then he tried to wind me up, said some crap that was meant to imply that you fought Cui because I’m ‘attractive to mammalian species’ - god he was a total creep. I can’t believe I ever thought he was good looking. Then he started getting personal, asking me about  _ that night _ , and I told him in the briefest way what happened, and then you came.”

“And how did he react?”

She shrugged. “He laughed. Said I had guts.”

“Laughed? What did you say, specifically.” Vegeta narrowed his eye, his insides turning with worry.

“Oh just something insulting to Captain Cui, nothing important. Reminded him that Cui ordered the match and you beat his ass. That’s all.”

He frowned. Zarbon was the sort to find whatever implication he was looking for in the most innocent of gestures. He had used this power to displace many of his competitors for Lord Freeza’s favour. He might interpret Bulma’s words as springing from a particular admiration, either his or hers.

“You worry too much.”

He glanced up, surprised. He realised he’d been stood in contemplative silence.

“Look, whatever’s worrying you, you won’t make it better by fretting about it.” The expression of mild anger he’d been greeted with had softened to her more usual look of gentle concern. “So instead, how about you come into my operating theatre and I’ll pretend to calibrate your scouter while you try to figure out why you’re here?”

He scoffed at her, but followed her all the same.

“And your highness, bring the food please.”

 

*   *   *

 

The time between small talk and kissing had grown considerably shorter, Bulma considered from her comfortable position in Vegeta’s lap. Of course he had been hesitant, almost unwilling until she led the way, but he was not as difficult to persuade as he had been previously. Her legs hung over the side of the operating chair they were both occupying, and she leaned back, supported by his muscular arm with his hand on the small of her back, so she didn’t have to twist her torso to face him. His spare hand she’d placed decidedly on her thigh - after a brief battle to remove his gloves - with the one word instruction: “Explore.” And to his credit he was trying. Most of his attention was taken up by her mouth but he put some effort into running his hand along her thigh, often stopping at her hips. At first his touch had been feather-light, as if he was afraid he’d damage her, but she put a stop to that, putting her own hand over his and firmly pressing down. She saw she’d have to teach him even the very basics and she wasn’t in the mood to waste any time.

Her hands were currently busy, one wrapped around his shoulders for support and the other cupping his face as she kissed him. He hadn’t forgotten what she’d taught him last time, and furthermore he was a very quick study, advancing in confidence with every caress. She  was oddly proud of him.

He bit her lip and she gasped, pulling away slightly. His brow contracted immediately, probably thinking he’d made a mistake, so she laced her fingers into his hair and pulled his face roughly against hers again, granting him a tiny moan as a reward. She’d not gotten as quickly soaked as the previous night, but she could feel the rush of blood and subsequent lubrication building to an almost uncomfortable degree. She desperately wanted his hand to sweep upwards, away from her hip, and to dip between her leg to give her some relief, but she knew she had to exercise patience.

The hand in question at that moment took the downward path as she heightened their kiss, finally gripping her backside. She felt, rather than heard, the very small noise of pleasure he made as he explored her curvature and realised with amusement that he must have been gearing himself up to make that move since they’d begun. Well two could play at that game.

She released her grip on his hair and slipped her fingers under the bottom hem of his light armour. She felt him tense, and pause, but he returned to kiss her. The material was stretchy and she soon had her whole hand under it, exploring the hard muscles of his abdomen, but it wasn’t quite accommodating enough for what she wanted. She returned her hand to his face and extracted her lips from his.

“May I remove your armour?” She asked, placing light kisses on his open lips. The hand on her ass twitched. After an uncomfortably long pause he eventually nodded, but he withdrew his lips, his mouth a tight line.

She sat up and, with a little assistance from him, lifted the armour over his head. The form fitting suit underneath she saw was a two piece, the lining being of a synthetic self-adhesive material that gave the illusion of a single cohesive garment. She smirked; whether he meant to or not he’d dressed appropriately. She held the armour, shrunken now that it wasn’t reacting to his body heat, then tossed it with a smile to the floor next to his gloves and skirt pauldrons.

She had been aware of his erection for some time, and had thus far treated it with caution. When she had tried to bring that into equation last night he had not responded encouragingly, but if he didn’t let her deal with it soon he would begin to suffer. For now she settled for periodically shifting her weight in such a way that her leg would rub gently against it.

“Are you alright?” She whispered, almost into his mouth. He nodded hesitantly.

She ran a hand down to the hidden seam of his form fitting top. “May I?”

He nodded again and she teased up the fabric until it would admit her searching fingers. She slid her hand up his abdomen to his chest, the fabric pulling up to expose his skin. Almost no trace of the beating Zarbon had given him now remained, but his olive toned skin bore many scars from previous encounters. She ran her fingertips over one, old and silvery.

“How did you get this one?” She murmured.

“...One of my first missions as a boy, I got careless.” 

“And this one?”

“A present from some native wildlife.”

Her fingers strayed to a short, straight scar, angry red in colour. “And this?”

“Humph.” His face darkened. “Rebel grenade.”

She thought it expedient to drop the subject, and hid her frown against his mouth. She pushed the fabric of his top higher.

“Do you mind if I take this off?” She asked him. He shrugged, and she continued to pull it over his head, finally discarding it with the rest.

She had to lean back to admire him. His smooth torso bulged with perfect definition, from his prominent collarbone to the muscular v-shape that disappeared below the seam of his bodysuit. She placed both hands on his pectoral muscles, firm yet supple like the rest of him. She hoped he could tell how much the sight of him pleased her, scars or no.

She would show him.

Smiling reassuringly, she lifted her right leg back over so that she was straddling him, and he readjusted his supporting arm so that his hand rested instead on her rear. She was higher than him now, and held that position for a few seconds to give him time to get used to it. She didn’t want to appear threatening to him. Once he seemed to be relaxing again she dipped her face to meet his and kissed him deeply, cupping the unscarred side of his face with one hand and caressing his shoulder with the other. Slowly, and with much care, she angled herself so that his erection pressed up between her legs, inhaling sharply at the heat of him. She ground her hips gently against him.

He pulled away to gasp and Bulma paused, concerned she’d gone too far. But no, he was rising to meet her now, kissing her with an urgency she’d yet to experience from him. She moved her pelvis up and down over his bulge and he responded with endearing - if clumsy - enthusiasm, pressing his digits into the flesh of her behind to increase the pressure. They continued in this vein for a few minutes before Bulma started to up the pace, their mutually pleasurable grinding becoming more rhythmic and natural.

She was teasing herself, she knew it. There had been no clear plan on her part, other than that she wouldn’t go too far this evening, but when she glanced down and saw a dark streak of her own wetness where she’d been rubbing against him she realised how very badly she wanted to.

How long, she thought, had she been this attracted to him? It had snuck up on her so gradually that she’d hardly noticed but now she could barely think straight through her need for this scarred, taciturn, difficult man.

She tipped his head back, repressing the desire to do so roughly, and trailed a series of kisses along his jawline to his neck. He tried to pull her face back to his mouth but she resisted, nibbling his ear.

“Relax,” she whispered, “just enjoy this part.”

Relaxation was beyond him but enjoyment was not, as Bulma kissed and sucked and bit her way down his neck to his collarbone, her hands scouting ahead to appreciate more closely his fine torso. He didn’t vocalise, but the involuntary clenching of his stomach muscles and the way his hips jerked into hers when she took his nipple into her mouth were indication enough.

She slid her hips off his and moved down his legs, her hands now braced either side of him as she lowered her head, still kissing his skin as she went. She pulled on the trouser hem of his battle suit and with very little effort allowed his erection to spring free. She took a steadying breath.

“You say if you need to stop, ok?” She said, slowly moving her hand towards the base of his penis. He tensed but he gave no other answer either positive or negative. She took that as encouragement, and wrapped her shaking fingers around his shaft. Given his overall frame it was about the size she’d expected, with a slightly more pleasing girth. She could tell that in general he kept himself very clean, which made the next step a good deal more appetizing.

He’d jerked his chin up when she’d begun to work her hand up and down the length of his cock - mouth hanging open in surprise and pleasure - and was not prepared for the sensation of her lips and tongue. She saw in her peripheral vision his fingers digging deeply into the padding of the armrests as she palmed him into her mouth, creating a slow suction with her lips.

“Wait!” He gasped.

She grimaced and stopped, the tip of his penis sliding out of her mouth. She looked up to him, trying not to show her disappointment, but she needn’t have bothered as his eye was tightly shut. His refusal she’d expected, she was actually surprised he’d gotten this far, but she hadn’t yet worked out what to do about it. In lieu of anything more substantial she rubbed his thigh with her now empty hand.

He was tense, very tense. His jaw was clenched and visibly twitchy, and the tendons of his neck stood out like he was lifting weights. The dents his hands were putting in the soft pads of the chair she was concerned would never dissipate. He opened his good eye.

The gaze was intense and difficult to read. Discomfort, obviously, but something else like maybe anger or fear flashed in that dark eye. The blue dot of his scouter had swivelled round to point at her too.

“Was that not okay?” She asked.

He opened his mouth to reply but no words came out. His erection still stood between them.

“I can stop. You know I will, you just say the word.” She leaned up again, supporting her weight on her fists, so that her face was close. “But I would very much like to continue if you think you’d be ok with that.”

He blinked slowly, swallowed hard. She rubbed her nose against his and offered him her lips. He took them, his kiss fearful and inelegant, but she read the permission implied in it. Smiling warmly, she once again lowered her hand.


	13. Exposure

_ “You gonna make me wait all night, princeling?” _

_ She placed her drink next to his and perched confidently against his end of the long table. Unperturbed by his pointed disregard of her, the woman had crossed the bar to accost him, passing far more receptive men on her way. He wrinkled his nose and carefully moved his glass away from her bottle. _

_ “So it’s true what they say about you then.” She smirked, infuriatingly. “Good, I don’t like ‘em easy.” _

_ Exasperated by her persistence, the young prince finally deigned to actually look at her. Her appearance he assumed would be generally appealing to his so-called peers, though he found her slovenly. She was mammalian, and proudly displayed those marked characteristics, in particular having found a way to pull down her battle suit so that her over-ripe bosom nearly spilled out of the top. _

_ “What do you want?” He growled finally. _

_ “Heh, I want you to down your stupid drink so we can get out of here.” She leaned in and he jerked his head away to avoid the alcohol on her breath. “I got a room in the free district that’s all mine for tonight.” _

_ He turned from her, everything about the situation disgusting him. “You’re wasting your time. Go bother someone else.” _

_ To his surprise and annoyance she didn’t leave, worse she threw back her head and emitted a harsh, barking laugh. _

_ “Freeza’s tits, you play hard to get. Well I don’t like to walk away from a challenge. I hear your kind don’t either. Maybe there’s a little Saiyan in me, huh? Or else,” and here she leaned in again, “there will be later.” _

_ He stood up abruptly, his fists clenched in anger. It took all his willpower not to throw the upstart bitch across the room. “If I want a whore I’ll go find one. Amuse yourself with someone else, I’m not interested.” _

_ And with that he began to stalk away from her with the intention of leaving, but she wasn’t done. _

_ “Damn, you  _ are  _ frigid. And here I thought maybe you’s was just shy. Or a fucking queer.” _

_ He stopped, turned slightly, and in the corner of his eye spotted Nappa and Radditz watching from a corner table. Their faces showed their concern, which incensed Vegeta far more than this vile excuse for a Freeza soldier had. _

_ “You’ve too high an opinion of yourself.” He bit, turning back towards the exit. “Next time take a shower first before you try to bed your betters. And for fuck’s sake sort out your breath.” _

_ The soldier suitably offended, and his pride intact at least on the surface, he made his exit. _

 

*   *   *

 

He didn’t know what he’d imagined it would be like, only that anything he might have imagined must fall far short. Her hand alone on his cock was intense but her mouth? The warm, wetness of her mouth, and then just the lightest suck - he had been overwhelmed, so much so that panic nearly got the better of him. Now as she worked the base of his penis with her hand and gently sucked the head with her skillful lips and tongue he was glad that it hadn’t.

His body moved of its own accord, his abdomen rising and falling with the rhythm of his hips as they rocked involuntarily to the pace she set. He had no point of reference to which he could compare this experience. His skin burned and yet his flesh pimpled like he was cold. His cheeks were flushed and he couldn’t control his breathing. Everything about this terrified him.

His pride in his absolute self-control was humbled by this skinny, weak little alien. With apparently very little effort she could extort from him noises he did not intend to make, and force his body to move like a charmed snake. Part of him screamed to make it stop, to wrestle back control - violently if necessary - but she felt  _ so damned good. _

He’d closed his eye some time ago, unable to focus on anything beyond the waves of pleasure she was sending through him. It was very much like waves, he thought, the tide on a beach. The sensation would build, swell, then break over him only to recede and build again, a little more intense each time. He wondered how far his body could be pushed in this way, and at what point the pleasure would be too much and break  _ him _ .

He felt a change, not in what she was doing but in how it was making him feel. The wave that was building on the horizon had begun to crest but it was different. He felt concern and a momentary pang of fear as it hit him, and with a strangled moan he exploded - or at least that’s how he felt. In actuality he orgasmed, ejaculating forcefully into Bulma’s waiting mouth.

It appeared that was what she’d been waiting for and she seemed neither surprised nor disgusted by the proceedings. On the contrary she skillfully worked him through the aftermath of his orgasm with her hand. As she raised her head to look at him he saw her adam’s apple bob and realised she’d swallowed him. He didn’t know why but that made him want to groan again.

She smiled, her own breathing somewhat laboured, but there was silence between them. Vegeta was breathing hard, almost panting, and as the euphoria ebbed away he felt exposed and undignified. He wanted to change his position somehow, to look less animal in front of her, but her warm smile never faltered. Possibly sensing his discomfort, she leaned forward and ran her hands up his chest. Her touch was reassuring, and upon reaching his shoulders she gripped them lightly and used them to lever herself forwards so she was slightly raised over him. He pressed his legs together to allow her knees more room on the operation chair and tried to discreetly pull his garments up to hide his receding erection. For some reason the sight of it embarrassed him.

“I really enjoyed that. Thank you for letting me do it.” And then unexpectedly she dipped her head to gently kiss him.

Vegeta was baffled. He felt like he didn’t understand anything anymore. He couldn’t believe that she meant it, that she’d ‘enjoyed’ what she’d just done, but why else would she have done it if not? He didn’t kiss her back, too confused and woozy, but nor did he push her away.

“Are you doing ok?” She leaned back to view him better and he sat forward self-consciously. Too embarrassed to speak, he nodded.

“Good, because I was hoping you’d…” It was her turn to blush, something Vegeta found incredibly endearing. “Would you do something ...for me?”

He paused, considering, but without knowing what she meant he could only follow his gut. He nodded again, more slowly.

She smiled, relief flooding her face. Her evident pleasure in his acquiescence was even more becoming.

Gently, but firmly, she grasped his right hand in hers and drew it towards her. With her other hand she pulled down her leggings and her underwear. Were it not for her researcher’s tunic she would have been entirely exposed. Vegeta felt the panic of a few minutes ago begin to rise again.

“Don’t worry,” she whispered, leaning up and forward to angle herself over his hand, “this is easy really. I’ll show you.”

She placed her hand over the back of his and manoeuvred it between her legs. The first thing he noticed was her heat, swiftly followed by his first touch which was overwhelmingly wet. Were they always like that?

Underneath her tunic she was slick and smooth, her soft lips pliant against his now searching fingers. He could feel the blood engorged tissues, could feel her pulse even, and as the velvety wetness engulfed his index finger he knew with certainty that he wanted to touch her there with more than just his hand.

Each of her fingers lay on top of his, and she guided him deliberately and directly. Her spare hand pressed on his shoulder where she rested some of her weight. At first the movements were exploratory, introducing him to her anatomy in an almost lazy fashion. His calloused middle finger passed over her opening, and she pressed it slightly to dip inside her. Her wetness clung to his finger as he withdrew it. This wetness she directed further up, towards the front. There he encountered a small mound of flesh, no larger than his thumbnail, but which upon being touched caused a tiny convulsion in Bulma. She took a deep breath. Her mouth hung slightly open, and as her eyes were lidded he felt free to observe her without reciprocal scrutiny. She was stunning, down to even her minutest facial expressions, she was incredible. It wasn’t that she was beautiful, objectively he supposed she probably was but that wasn’t what made the blood rise to his cheeks when he saw her. He didn’t know what it was, he only knew that he suddenly had to make her feel the way she’d just made him feel. It was a matter of pride.

“Ok, these fingers,” she instructed, her voice shaky, “just here.”

She led his first two fingers in a circular movement, gently massaging the little nub. It was soft and giving at first but it soon grew harder under his fingers. Her breathing became steadily more ragged as he followed her lead. Instinctively he darted forwards to kiss her mouth.

Surprised, but pleased, Bulma responded by increasing the pressure on his hand, his feather light touch growing firmer with each repetition. He disengaged from her mouth to kiss and bite her neck, remembering how much he’d enjoyed her doing that for him. Hearing her moan her approval made him almost giddy.

“Keep going, and keep your fingers wet.” She whispered hoarsely into his ear, and then her hand was gone from his. He gulped down his alarm and continued, dipping into her opening as she had shown him to collect the juices gathering there and transfer them to what he would later learn was her clitoris. Though his face was buried in her neck, he was aware of her using her now free hands to unfasten her tunic. He badly wanted to look, but instead pressed his mouth more firmly against her neck and jaw, listening for the encouraging noises she made.

“You have... two hands.” She murmured against his earlobe, pressing his spare hand with her fingertips. She then proceeded to hook two of her fingers under his palm and tease it up towards her bared torso.

Warm and soft again, though dry this time, the flesh of Bulma’s abdomen was like richest silk under his fingers. He gingerly ran his fingers over her belly, finding not hard muscle like he was used to but tender flesh. She gave a tiny laugh as he thumbed her belly button; he was so intrigued by the tactile impression of a body that hadn’t been hewn from combat and physical trial. With a further nudge from her his hand explored higher, all the while never losing his focus on what his fingers were still doing between her legs. Her hips had begun to rock gently against his hand similarly to the way his own had done only minutes before. He wondered if she was feeling the same sensations he had then.

Her unbuttoned tunic fell away from her shoulders and draped unceremoniously across his legs. He suddenly realised that she was naked from the waist up, or almost anyway. His searching fingers brushed up against the edge of a small garment, and similarly as he began to explore further down her shoulder with his mouth he encountered a thin strap that he hadn’t noticed before. He realised quickly that it must be some sort of undergarment.

In the absence of further instruction Vegeta stayed his exploring, neither retreating nor advancing further. She didn’t seem to notice however, judging from the more forceful movements her pelvis was now making as she rode his hand. He was beginning to have trouble keeping his fingers in the right spot.

She loosened the garment and suddenly her hand was on his again, urgently now, pushing his hand up under the wired under rim of her brassiere and around the flesh within. Her breast was nestled within his hand, and she clearly wanted him to do something, but her ability to communicate seemed impaired. He was in unknown territory, and while his fear and alarm had not abated he was emboldened by the noises she was making. Tentatively he pulled the garment away, sliding the straps down her arms, and recalling vividly something she had done for him he lowered his mouth to her nipple.

She jerked, gripped him; her nimble fingers wound into his hair and he felt her nails against his scalp. He sucked her breast experimentally.

“Fu- Christ!” Bulma gasped, leaning more of her weight on him than before. “Do that, more, do it more.”

Elated by her surprise he complied most willingly, learning as he had done before how to utilise his lips and tongue to their greatest effect. He pressed his tongue against the whole of her nipple, sucked gently and ran the tip around the edge, would lightly bite it and run his teeth along the puckered skin. He found the sensation of it changing from its wide softness into a hard little nub oddly pleasing. Bulma responded candidly, praising wordlessly those ministrations she enjoyed most. She also took possession of his free hand and, after wetting his two foremost fingers in her own mouth, placed it on her other breast. His wet fingers began to play with her other nipple and she emitted a low, long groan.

“Faster.” She requested breathlessly, touching the hand he had between her legs. Dutifully he upped the pace. “Ohh-mmm, and h-harder - just a l-little. And smaller circles.”

Her breathing, which had up to now been erratic and ragged, had changed to firm gasps. She was practically thrusting against him now, sucking in air through her teeth with every spasmic jerk of her hips, riding his hand with ecstatic abandon. He struggled to keep her centered enough to continue, so to compensate she wrapped her arms around his head and neck, putting her weight on him to steady herself. It gave him the stability he needed to comply more fully, and after rewetting his fingers he pressed on, instinct as well as her telling him to keep going.

He felt her nails again, this time digging into his neck. Her fingers gripped him almost painfully, in fact her whole body felt suddenly tense. She buried her face into his hair, which muffled her strangled moan as she spasmed against him with more force and less rhythm than she had previously. He noted that her rhythm did not appear to be returning, and even the pitch of her moan had changed significantly. She mewled a garbled sentence, almost nonsensical but for the inclusion of his name and let out a final vocalisation that seemed alarmingly loud to Vegeta. He realised with sudden certainty that she was reaching the same climax that she’d brought him to, that she was having an orgasm. This woman - who had brought him figuratively to his knees - was gasping and clutching at him like he was her lifeline in a rough sea. He couldn’t fully fathom his emotions but he knew a burst of genuine pride at least, and a burning sense of true satisfaction.

It wasn’t until she put a hand on his wrist and firmly pushed his still moving fingers aside that he realised how limp she’d become. She’d collapsed against him, one arm still hooked around his neck and the other now languidly resting at her side. He had stopped his assault on her breasts of his own accord when she had first gripped his head and now his face rested comfortably against the bones of her neck. He listened to her breathing, his hand resting quietly on his lap between them. He was aware of her juices slowly drying on his bare skin, and though he didn’t care for the sensation he found he could tolerate it.

He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, however long it took for her breathing to return to its regular patter he supposed, because it wasn’t until she’d fully recovered herself that she released him from her loose embrace. She didn’t speak, just placed one hand on his bare chest and pushed herself back into a sitting position.

He couldn’t look at her. He’d wanted so badly to be able to see what he’d just been touching but now - with no ability to hide from her own searching gaze - he felt all his discomfort returning. He looked off to the side instead.

“Vegeta?” She queried softly. His eye flickered momentarily to hers but he couldn’t hold her gaze. His fingers were sticky now.

“Vegeta, I want you to know that was really good.” She said soothingly. She stroked his face as she said it, even going so far as to plant a kiss on his forehead. “Will you look at me?”

Slowly, with a lot of effort, he turned his head, still keeping his eyeline lowered, until he was focussing on her belly-button. He wanted to look above and below, to examine every inch of her with the curiosity of a scientist making some new discovery, but something was stopping him. So instead he sat there, staring at her stomach, and convinced that he looked like the galaxy’s biggest fool.

“It’s ok.” She said eventually. “Whatever you’re feeling, I want you to know that it’s ok. Everyone feels a bit weird afterwards. You don’t know what to say, what you should do. Everything goes from incredibly intense to this amazing calm and then, well, real life hits you again and it’s like, what do I do now, huh?”

Vegeta felt she’d put it pretty succinctly. He swallowed, squared his shoulders a little, flexed his hand.

“You haven’t really looked at me, and that’s ok if you don’t want to, but I’m about to put my clothes back on so this might be your last chance for a while.” Her voice was warm, he could hear her smile without seeing it. Breathing deeply, he leaned back into the chair and forced himself to look at her.

She wasn’t sat to best effect, her frame somewhat collapsed and her midriff creased from the slumped way she was sitting. He’d seen how the whores would position themselves in their display windows on countless space stations, with their shoulders pulled back to lift their breasts and their backs bent uncomfortably to accentuate their figures - that is to say those whores who specialised in humanoid mammalian attraction anyway. She didn’t do any of that. She was smiling though, and it occurred to him that the most expensive, best-trained whore that ever lived could not hold a candle to the flushed and sweaty human sat there across his legs with her leggings and undergarments stretched uncomfortably around her thighs. She was glorious, and while he very much appreciated the pendulous curve of her breasts and the soft lines of her waist and thighs, he would always come back to her smile, that warm smile that reached up to her eyes and made those little creases appear. He didn’t feel quite as uncomfortable anymore.

She laughed a little, and for once he didn’t immediately assume she was laughing at him, and began to re-clothe herself. They disengaged from each other almost shyly and sought their own haphazardly discarded garments.

“So I was thinking,” She said with affected nonchalance, “is this like, a regular thing? Do you want to meet again?” She added in response to his blank stare.

“I don’t really ...I hadn’t thought that far ahead.” He admitted, pulling a glove over his unwashed hand and regretting it immediately.

She stood up straight, fastening the last couple of buttons on her tunic. “Well for my part I had a good time tonight. I think it would be a shame if this was it.”

He silently agreed, but while he wrestled with the issue of how to communicate that she had already begun to talk again.

“Of course we’d need a way to communicate with each other. I mean I can’t just wait in the lab every evening.”

He grunted his agreement.

“We could have some sort of code?” She mused. “When you come to review the project for instance, you could tell Si’eth something where I can hear like, um…”

“‘One of the functions isn’t responding reliably’.” He finished for her decisively. “And for the next time we agree on a new code.”

“Yeah, yeah that makes sense.” She agreed. “So from that can I gather that this won’t be the last time I see you?”

He shrugged; she smiled.

“I guess I’ll see you in my lab some time then.” She glanced about her and her manner went from playful to business-like. “Now come on and help me clean up this mess.”

 

*   *   *

 

The first thing he did when he attained the safety of his rooms was to rip off his gloves and throw them down the laundry chute. The second was to wash his tacky hands very thoroughly. The third was to divest himself of his bodysuit and thrust that down the chute after his gloves. He knew a slight qualm as the garments sped away to the maintenance department but reminded himself firmly that there was no way to identify him from his laundry. He would order new clothes before he went to bed, but before that he needed a shower, a hot one. He could smell her scent even over his own increasingly bad body odour.

Why had nobody ever told him how sex made you smell?

It hadn’t seemed to bother her. But then he was very aware of  _ her _ bodily odours as she leaned in to kiss him goodbye and hadn’t been phased either, despite his acute sense of smell and his usual aversion to the stench of unwashed bodies. Perhaps that was normal after ...whatever it was they’d done.

What  _ had  _ they done?

He was tired, and struggling to process the evening’s events. He couldn’t fathom what had happened, couldn’t make sense of any of his feelings, he only had an overwhelming desire to sleep. He stepped out of the shower, through the automatic dryer, completed his hygienic rituals and almost fell into his bed.

“I look forward to seeing you again, Vegeta.” That’s what she’d said before she kissed the side of his mouth and left him. He smiled a little as sleep took him.

 

* * *

 

 

Bulma’s eyes snapped wide open in the dark of her dormitory. The sounds of her gently slumbering companions filled the room but she didn’t hear them as her body swiftly filled with cold terror.

The cameras.  _ The fucking cameras _ .

Every corridor, workspace, hangar and  _ laboratory  _ on the compound had security stripping along the uppermost section of the wall, it was how she’d accessed the video footage of Vegeta’s escape from his healing tank. She’d gotten so used to the non-descript grey bar all over the compound that she hadn’t considered it. Ala had warned her, especially after last time when she’d deleted the footage-

Ala.  _ Ala could access the footage _ .

Bulma sat up in bed and recklessly flung her consciousness abroad, desperately seeking the thin thread of connection that her former overseer had always left her for emergencies. She searched and searched and mentally screamed Ala’s name, but for several minutes nothing happened. Bulma was sweating, her hands shaking, was about to leave the dorm to try to hack the computers herself when Ala’s answer came.

_ Whatever is the matter, little one? _

_ Ala, the cameras. The goddamned cameras! _

_ I don’t understand, what has happened? _

Bulma was too distressed to convert her thoughts into words, instead thrusting snapshots of her memory directly before her, always while picturing the dreaded security stripping.

She took a long time to answer.

_ What have you done? _

_ I know I know - please, help me!  _

_ Leave it with me. Try not to panic. Do not see the Saiyan before you have seen me. You will come to me tonight at the usual time and place. Can you do this? _

_Yes._ Bulma communicated, silent tears rolling down her cheeks.

Then Ala was gone, and Bulma was alone again.

 

*   *   *

 

Bulma did sleep, though sparsely, and was awake before anyone else. She had a headache and felt very sick, but she still dragged herself out of bed and into the communal showers she shared with her roommates. They had asked all their usual questions when she’d come in late the previous evening, and she’d been too happy to even make a good pretence of quashing their ribaldry. As it was they were convinced she was having an affair with someone from her lab, and she had up to now seen no harm in letting them think that while outwardly denying the rumour. No she felt only disgust and self-doubt at every decision she had made.

She would be caught. She didn’t know what would happen after that. Previously the person she had been most scared of being caught by was Ala, but now it was she who Bulma sought for protection. She wasn’t even sure what exactly she was worried about, except the way Zarbon had looked at her when coming close to suggesting her connection. There had been no lust in that cold eye, rather it was the look a cat gives a mouse while deciding whether or not it is bored playing with it yet.

Vegeta had enemies, would they use her to get to him? Or would anyone even care? Was she panicking for nothing? But then if it weren’t important Vegeta would never have insisted on so much secrecy. She went round and round in circles as she stood shaking under the lukewarm shower water, desperately hoping her dorm-mates would believe her excuse that she had some sort of cold.

She didn’t eat at breakfast, and continued her illness excuse. She was asked if her vaccinations were up to date, but as the breadth of species was so extremely wide on the compound it was agreed that her excuse was plausible; after all keeping this many different species from so many worlds from infecting each other needed its own department  _ just  _ to maintain the constantly expanding database of productivity-killing diseases.

In the lab she fared no better, her lack of food and sleep really beginning to take its toll. When her shaking hands dropped a soldering iron, frying the delicate components she’d been working on, Si’eth put his foot down and ordered her out of the lab.

“I don’t care Bulma, you’re clearly sick.” He said, ignoring her weak protest. “Did you even eat at breakfast? No I though not, well I’m authorising a ConAl to your room and if I find out you’ve left that room for any reason today you’ll be on half credits for the rest of the period, do you understand me?”

She sighed, defeated. At least she could be alone with her fear, as a ConAl - short for  convalescent allowance - would mean she would have food and drink brought directly to her dorm, although she’d been told that ConAl rations were pretty meagre, probably to discourage sick days in general. She left the lab and the sympathetic stares behind her and made for her room, collapsing with exhausted relief onto her bed.

She wouldn’t be able to leave the room, not without disobeying her overseer, which meant she couldn’t meet Ala as directed. She would have to do something about that, she thought, right after she’d rested her eyes for a few moments.

Bulma was awoken by the buzzing of her intercom. She glanced at the info panel on the wall and realised with consternation that she’d slept through the entire morning. The intercom buzzed again and she scrambled to answer it, correctly guessing that it was her ConAl delivery. She accepted it and waiting impatiently for the maintenance worker to sign off the delivery so that she could close the door. Alone again, she tossed the box to one side and sat again on her bed. She had to contact Ala.

The intercom buzzed again and she snorted, exasperated. She considered ignoring it but Ala’s voice rang in her mind as clear as a bell.

_ It’s just me, let me in. _

She darted to the door and wrenched it open.

“Ala!” She cried out loud.

“Hello, dear one.” She swept into the dorm, as serene as ever and Bulma felt an overpowering calm overtake her. She knew that it was an effect being projected by Ala’s telepathy but nevertheless it soothed her. Bulma closed the door.

“Ala, I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Keep your voice down, now.” She advised aloud. “I think it best if we communicate on your terms at the moment but you must still exercise caution.”

Bulma didn’t think she’d been that loud, considering there was no security stripping in any of the dorms, but she complied anyway.

“Linking your mind to mine has the potential to be taxing for you at this early stage in your development, and especially while you are clearly unwell. I wouldn’t want to make you worse. Please, sit.” Ala motioned towards the beds, uncannily picking out Bulma’s without looking.

“Yeah, that’s fair eno- hey what do you mean ‘development’?”

“Never mind, right now.” They sat down together and Bulma was impressed with the sheer weight of the tall woman pushing down the bed. “I’m here to check on you. Your mind was so fogged and erratic today that I knew I’d have to see you. When I realised you’d been put on convalescence… well though it isn’t ideal overall it certainly gave me an excuse to come see you sooner than planned. I would have been here earlier but I was forced to pretend that I had come by the information by conventional means.” Here Ala half smiled. “I can’t help but feel this ‘illness’ of yours is somewhat self-inflicted. We both knew when I told you to remain calm that you wouldn’t be completely successful in that endeavour but I didn’t expect you to actually worry yourself to death.”

Bulma tried to smile at Ala’s attempts at light heartedness, but it was brittle. She needed news, not banter.

“I understand,” said Ala, reading either her face or her thoughts, “you wish to know if I managed to remove your illicit footage.”

Bulma stared at her feet shamefacedly.

“It was not very easy this time. As you recall you were waiting in the lab for him, so I had no sensible place to cut the footage. On the last occasion I was able to cut and loop the recording of the empty lab to cover up your transgression, this time my work was not so neat. If it were to be examined I fear it would not hold up to scrutiny, but I think luck is on your side in this case. The amount of security in the compound is such that it would be far too time consuming to be constantly checking the laboratories of the lower orders. Unless you were directly reported I think you are safe. Even if you were, they wouldn’t see the Saiyan, only a sloppy cut to an empty lab.”

Bulma’s gut untwisted as Ala spoke but her hands still shook.

“You are waiting to be admonished, yes?”

She nodded silently.

“I don’t really see the point.” Ala said plainly. “You have been warned by myself in regards to this dangerous behaviour before, but it doesn’t seem to have made a difference. I would be angry but have since been advised further that mammals such as yourself are slaves to the instincts of nature. And after all if you are able to influence the Saiyan in some way through this I may be able to factor this into our plans.”

Despite her relief at avoiding another dressing down, and the nerves that still wracked her, Bulma was genuinely very insulted. She wasn’t an animal. It took all her willpower not to let it show either mentally or physically, and for the former she wasn’t sure she was truly successful either. She briefly considered demanding to know how Ala’s race procreated but squashed the notion as unhelpful.

_ They probably just burst into being fully formed when enough self-righteous aloofness had accumulated to manifest- _

_ I can hear that, Bulma.  _ Ala projected at her stiffly.  _ Your defences need a lot more work child. _

Bulma’s face burned with embarrassment as she clamped down hard on her rogue thoughts. She thought however given her weakened state it was mighty unfair of Ala to be probing her mind.

“You’re probably right.” Ala agreed. “As such I think it’s best I leave you for now. We will continue your training when you are recovered. Now eat, please. Then sleep. Your body must be fit to support your mind.”

“Wait, one more thing.” Bulma raised her hand to stop Ala rising from the bed. “You said my ‘development’, does that mean what I think it does?” When she didn’t reply immediately Bulma expanded. “Ala, are you trying to teach me to be a telepath like you?”

“It has been done, with those students adept enough.” Ala said hesitantly, standing up and pacing briefly around the room. “I’ve considered it, as part of your potential training when our plans here come to completion, but understand I could never teach you to communicate as fully as I do. Your brain doesn’t have the function, but in time an individual with a receptive mind can learn to use the rudimentary skills that you have already been unconsciously grasping. My race was always very insular, so this phenomenon is not ...well studied.”

“I see.” Bulma replied. “And the possible side effects of being a ginuea pig for this might be…?”

“As I said, there is a lack of data.” She turned her large, black eyes on Bulma. “This is something to worry about after our first goal is reached. We shall ‘cross that bridge when we come to it’, as I believe your Earth people say.”

Bulma nodded, though she burned with more questions. Instead she opened the plastic box that Ala was now firmly placing on her lap and began to disembowel it. The sight of food made her realise quite how hungry she was, and the allaying of the bulk of her anxiety left her ravenous. She took her first bite, and found the plain fare delicious. Ala smiled to see her appetite suddenly so hearty.

“I will return to my lab now, I’ll contact you over the next few days.” Ala straightened and moved towards the door. “In the meantime I shall send a message to your overseer to say you are much better for rest and sustenance. I expect he’ll want you back in your lab tomorrow.”

Bulma mumbled her thanks through a mouthful of food, and her former overseer left with a fond smile. She turned her full attention on the food, stopping only to get cold water from the communal faucet. When the box was empty and she’d seen to all her waking physical needs, she clambered back into her bed and shut off the lights. Sleep hit her almost immediately

 

*   *   *

 

Ala was, as ever, correct in her prediction. That evening, after her second food allowance had woken her up followed shortly by her roommates, she received a direct comm from Si’eth via the shared data panel in the dorm that she was expected in the lab the next morning. She confirmed the message and went back to bed, though she didn’t try to sleep any more that evening until her roommates settled down too. The next day saw her much improved, though not quite perfect, and she dressed with her roommates most readily.

“You’ve probably slept  _ too  _ much now.” One of her roommates remarked. “The human immune system response seems to be pretty dumb - stay awake all night then sleep way too long? And the not eating thing? What is wrong with your species, how did you make it this far?”

Bulma glowered at her. Her name was Inapp, and she and Bulma had often clashed. Given the indefinite status of their imprisonment on Planet Cold Bulma had tried to make the best of it, but sometimes she felt that Inapp didn’t want to make as much effort. The other women were always able to ignore or laugh off their occasional spats, but lately Bulma had found her less and less tolerable. She didn’t rise to the bait however, continuing with the rest of her dorm buddies to the canteen. In fairness to her, Bulma conceded silently, the human body did respond to stress pretty poorly.

Si’eth and her labmates were already at breakfast and she joined them, waving goodbye to her roommates with a cheerful smile. They were relieved to see her, complimented her on her improved looks, and encouraged her to eat. It was nice, she thought; sometimes these people felt more like friends than fellow slaves and as it had always been Bulma’s policy to live in the moment she allowed herself to enjoy the warmth of their camaraderie. They left the canteen together, chatting happily.

As she’d expected the work she’d started the previous day was still waiting for her, as well as today’s work, but there was evidence that someone at least had attempted to continue it for her which filled her with glowing warmth towards her labmates. She smiled as she picked up the circuit-board, seeing clearly where the hapless attempter had made their errors, and got to work.

Her morning seemed to drift away without incident, as did lunch and the afternoon shift. The panic of the previous day had abated and left her with a supreme sense of calm, like the euphoria felt when a particularly painful experience stops. The end of the day was swiftly approaching and she thought idly about what she might get for dinner that evening. She even hummed to herself as she worked.

_ Bulma. _ Ala’s voice cut through the haze.  _ Listen to me very carefully. Something is about to happen that is going to seem very frightening to you, but I need you to stay calm and do only what I tell you to do. Do you understand me? _

Bulma froze.  _ Ala? What? What’s going to happen? _

_ First tell me that you will do only what I tell you to do! _

_ Alright, just tell me what- _

Bulma didn’t finish the thought, for at that moment the lab doors slid open and Zarbon himself entered, followed closely by two middle ranking soldiers. He looked around the room with a leisurely smirk, his eyes stopping on Bulma for far too long before seeking out Si’eth. He greeted the overseer’s polite but questioning greeting with his usual lazy elegance before brushing past him towards Bulma’s workstation.

“I’m actually I’m here for your Earthling.” He drawled, motioning to the soldiers who also stepped forwards. “I would probably consider reassigning her work for the foreseeable future.”

_ Be calm. _ Ala urged.  _ Comply with any and all orders, walk calmly, don’t ask them any questions. It’s important that you look confused; they mustn’t think you know why they’re here. _

_ But I DON’T know why they’re here. _ Bulma nearly screamed.  _ Ala, help me! What do they want? What did I do? _

_ Just do as I say and you will be unharmed. _

“Hop to it, human.” Zarbon snapped her out of her tete a tete, clicking his fingers impatiently. “You’re coming with me.”

Silently, with one desperate glance towards her baffled colleagues, she stepped away from her workstation and between the two waiting soldiers. She had hoped for some shred of reassurance from her labmates but their faces showed only shock and fear. Zarbon gestured again towards the door this time and, sandwiched between the two Freeza soldiers, she was ushered out of her lab.


	14. Consequences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello readers! I don't usually post author's notes at the beginning of my chapters, but today I have something special to ask you. Choices has been nominated for two awards in the Prince and the Heiress annual awards and I was hoping I could get your support (and subsequently your votes!) The categories I'm nominated in are "Slow Burn" and "Best of the Undiscovered". And I would recommend just nipping over there to check out the other nominees as well, as I bet there are some unappreciated gems out there you might enjoy.
> 
> Where to vote: https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSfdrdvc93nmH0dCYSUp0JNzJ_F5T4nXrV9oZoF6MTm2F08xfA/viewform?usp=send_form

 

_ _

 

 

_Vegeta lay unsleeping in his bunk, the vulgar soldier’s words still repeating in his mind. “Frigid” she had called him. “Queer” as well, though if the first slur had been accurate he didn’t see how the second could matter. He’d rebuffed every whore or floozy that had ever attempted to bed him, but always felt he had to defend that to his men. If they were happy enough to fuck spaceport harlots then that was their business, he sneered at them arrogantly, but it would take more than some painted up bag of used body parts to tempt the great Prince Vegeta of all Saiyans to spill his seed. They would appear to take it at face value, but he saw the look in Radditz's eyes when that floozy had levelled her accusations. Dammit, he’d told that idiot too much._

_He’d been incautious, but a few nights after their initiation with the whores he’d broken his own secret rule and allowed himself a drink. He didn’t quite get drunk, but he’d had enough to give him the courage - or the idiocy - to try to talk to Radditz about their experience. Away from the other soldiers Radditz was usually straightforward, calm and the closest thing Vegeta had to a friend. They’d been raised together, they took their lessons together, and though rank had always been strictly observed between them they still had their moments of play that Vegeta reflected on almost fondly. Despite this Vegeta’s questions about the whores confused the younger Saiyan, and clearly made him uncomfortable, and though Radditz hadn’t given any answer Vegeta knew all he needed from the look on his face. Furious with himself, and Radditz’s insufficient communication, he’d snarled a dismissal and stalked off into the night by himself._

_Since that night Radditz had been distant, treating Vegeta less like the playmate of his childhood days and more with the respect due to a superior officer. Vegeta tried to convince himself this was better, that their accidental closeness was what led him to try such a foolish thing, but he couldn’t prevent himself feeling stung by the pity in the bigger man’s eyes as he watched Vegeta spurn that woman. Vegeta snorted softly. Radditz would probably have considered her offer more than fair game, the fool._

_The door clicked open on its antiquated hinges and his two companions snuck quietly in._

_“Oh thank fuck, he’s asleep.” Whispered Nappa._

_“Maybe for now.” Radditz hissed back. “We got early boarding for the mission tomorrow and if you wake him up and he sees we’re only just getting our heads down it’ll be our hides!”_

_“Well if you hadn’t decided to bang his highness’s rejects we’d be back by now.”_

_“No-one asked you to wait for me, you creepy fuck.”_

_Radditz climbed into his bunk, and Vegeta heard Nappa do the same. He considered validating Radditz’s warning, but his heart wasn’t in it. Instead he satisfied himself by yawning, hearing them both freeze, then turning away from them to face the wall. Their certainty that their prince truly slept was gone. There was silence after that._

 

* * *

 

Bulma had heard of the Wardroom but she’d never seen it. She’d not even walked by the entrance, placed as it was in the first circle. She slept and ate in the third circle and worked in the second, she’d never stepped foot into the first circle.

They’d passed the Central Database, where technicians maintained the networks and databases upon which the rest of the compound relied, and the control rooms through which all the orders from the first circle officers were uploaded and disseminated to the rest of the forces. These were near the outer rim of the first circle, which she knew from having studied the compound schematics. She also knew that the upper floor of the first circle was dedicated to the housing and maintenance of the higher ranking officers, including Vegeta.

She noticed subtle differences in the aesthetics of the first circle compared to the second and third. Notably there was decorative embellishment, supportive structures were disguised or stylised rather than existing as purely functional, and the usually stark white walls were a warmer tone. The lighting too had a more natural quality, but the grandness of the double doors leading into the wardroom was still jarring in comparison to the rest of the building.

She’d stood outside with the soldiers for what felt like a long time as Zarbon slipped inside to do lord knows what. All the time Ala was quietly whispering advice in her mind, telling her to look down and be still. It was hard, terrified as she was Bulma still wanted to look around her and take in this new place. Eventually she was ushered into the room proper and the soldiers were dismissed.

Bulma glanced around swiftly as she walked in, trying subtly to commit as much information to memory as possible. She froze however, her widened eyes fixed immovably on one point in the room. She heard Ala’s warnings but was physically unable to wrench her gaze away.

On a raised chaise longue, one hand idly stroking the stem of a wine glass, the ice lizard emperor himself lounged leisurely amongst his awed and silent officers. His tail, armour plated with a wickedly dangerous looking point, flicked back and forth as he surveyed his court. His dark purple lips were twisted into a permanent sort of smirk, but he appeared bored with his entourage. Hearing the door open, he moved his gaze lazily towards the sound, and Bulma felt her heart pounding in her chest as the blood red eyes of Lord Emperor Freeza slowly turned towards her.

_Look down! Do not make yourself more noticed!_

Bulma did as she was told, not seeing the rich carpets under her feet. Her face burned.

 _Ala_ , she reached out plaintively, _what do I do?_

_Wait. And don’t speak a word._

“Is she just going to stand there then?”

Bulma recognised Freeza’s voice from the arena and the sound send chills through her belly. Someone was moving, and she saw Zarbon’s high stockinged, booted leg come into view. He put his hand on her elbow.

“Of course not, my lord. She’s coming this way, aren’t you?”

_Nod. Follow him. Do not panic._

Bulma did as she was bid, following Zarbon away from the door and further inside the room. They stopped behind Freeza’s impromptu throne, Zarbon stood closest but Bulma herself only a mere matter of feet from his imperial majesty. She began to shake.

“You promised this would be entertaining for me, Zarbon.” Freeza drawled. “How long do you expect me to wait?”

“He’s been sent for, my lord. He won’t keep you waiting long.” Zarbon replied, only the tiniest trace of fear edging his voice. He was clearly accustomed to addressing the emperor. Freeza gave a little noise of consent and sipped his wine. Some sort of signal must have been made by him because the room was hesitantly filling up with conversation. Most of it was banal, but Bulma caught snatches of interest here and there, in particular the word ‘rebels’.

The conversations were garbled but from what she could gather ongoing efforts to pin down a base of operations for the rebel organisation continued to be fruitless, and even attempts to recover caches of their weapons tech resulted only in explosions and dead soldiers as every armoury or unit they’d captured would self-destruct. Bulma suspected they were triggered by a remote signal, or in-built timers. She also began to have horrible suspicions.

They _knew_. They knew about Ala, about the hangar, about the rebellion, everything. They knew who she was and what she’d been doing and know they were going to torture her for information. She believed it with such chilling certainty that the force of it nearly made her fall to her knees and retch.

_I would know if that were true. You have to trust me, Bulma. Calm yourself._

This did nothing to assuage her fear and her trembling grew worse.

“Are you hungry, girl?” Zarbon’s voice suddenly interrupted her panic and she looked up at him involuntarily. He was gesturing to a nearby table upon which was stacked exotic and expensive looking foods. “You can eat, if you wish. After all it would spoil the fun if you were to faint.”

She shook her head quickly, tacking on a brief ‘no-thank-you-sir’ at Ala’s hurried behest. Zarbon shrugged and left her alone to serve himself from the table. She occupied herself in obsessing over the precise meaning of the word ‘fun’.

She waited five, ten, maybe fifteen minutes more. In truth it could have been just one minute or it could have been half an hour. There was no daylight in the room and the walls were adorned only with decorative items so she had no idea of the passage of time, and the longer she waited the more afraid and less observant she became. It seemed like she’d been stood there her whole life when the doors were finally opened again. She couldn’t help but look up.

Framed in the doorway, the harsher synthetic light of the corridor creating a contrast between his sharp lines and the softness of the room, stood Prince Captain Vegeta. Her heart leapt into her throat. Like her he immediately swept the room, his eye narrowing first on Lord Freeza and then widening briefly as it found her. She saw the shock on his face because she knew it so well now, but she hoped it was less apparent to other observers. Either way his features smoothed over immaculately as he stepped into the room and addressed the occupants.

“You summoned me, my lord?”

 

* * *

 

Zarbon could hardly contain his glee. The momentary shock on the Saiyan’s face had betrayed him. He had taken a gamble with this one, but it had paid off and now he was to enjoy the fruits of his labour. To be dragged in front of his superiors for a misdemeanour such as this would be embarrassing for any officer but for one as proud and _un-fucking-touchable_ as Vegeta it would be completely mortifying. Furthermore, to be exposed, to finally have to submit to being no better than the animals he commanded, Zarbon had been imagining this moment since he’d first conceived the plan. It was by no means the equal retribution he intended to deal him for the indignity he’d suffered in losing Dodoria, nor would it truly answer for the inexplicable favour he’d been granted despite his low standing, but it was a start. And as Freeza had stated, it would be entertaining. The room waited in silence.

“Ah yes, Director Vegeta.” Freeza greeted him laconically. “I’m afraid that Zarbon has brought to my attention some very troubling news.”

Vegeta said nothing, merely stared ahead blankly. Zarbon noted that the woman had gone back to staring at the carpet. He hoped she appreciated the richness of colour and the depth of the weave, he’d had to deal with several merchants to get that just right.

“You recognize this, I suppose?” Freeza asked the Saiyan, gesturing towards the woman. Vegeta nodded.

“A researcher from one of my labs, I believe.” He elaborated. Zarbon noted that the woman flinched.

“You ‘believe’.” Freeza chuckled. “And you know my _rules_ about the conduct expected among my officers, directors and on-planet staff?”

“Of course, my lord.”

“So then why, dear boy, did you think it was acceptable to engage in certain recent behaviours?” There were muffled snickers at this.

Vegeta was silent. Zarbon was almost leaning forward in anticipation.

“Vegeta,” Freeza’s tone dropped sharply, a cold edge coming into it that cut through the syrupy sweetness, “you are not an idiot. I require an answer when I ask you a question.”

“I am not sure which behaviours you are referring to.” Vegeta stalled, his voice halting.

“You know very well.” Freeza replied tartly. “You also know that I don’t approve of fraternization among unauthorised staff. Research suffers, work output is greatly reduced and there can be complications of a medical nature among those of you who reproduce in that barbaric way. I do not condone the use of unauthorised assets in that manner and certainly don’t remember giving you any special permission to break my very clear and _simple_ rules .”

“I ...how …?” Vegeta stole a glance at the woman - noted by Zarbon - who still refused to break her staring contest with her feet. He couldn’t remember the last time Vegeta had been stuck for words; the entire situation was delicious.

“Zarbon received an anonymous donation of security footage.” Freeza again indicated him and he smirked, giving a tiny half bow. “Honestly, I think I’m more disappointed that it never occurred to you to turn off the security systems.”

Vegeta had nothing to say, but his reddening face told the story perfectly well.

“Of course I didn’t watch it, such goings-on are very distasteful to more evolved lifeforms such as myself, but I understand the particulars are now fairly common knowledge.” Freeza shook his head. “I’m very disappointed in you, Vegeta.”

The previously silent room had become host to creeping whispers and stifled giggles as Vegeta’s mortification mounted. The next part however was out of Zarbon’s hands. Freeza had told him that he would issue punishment personally.

“I suppose you want to know what I plan to do with you now?” The whispers dropped off as eager ears turned to follow Freeza’s words. “I could make an example of you of course, to send a very clear message, but as this a first offence, and your output has been exceptional up to now I’m inclined to be lenient.”

Zarbon opened his mouth to interrupt but stopped himself just in time. He had a sudden sinking feeling about his brilliant plan.

“The public nature of this reprimand is punishment in itself for one such as you, and you can expect a dock in your credits as well.” Freeza announced smirkingly as Vegeta silently nodded his acknowledgement, his mortification robbing him of his speech. “However, that does leave one last little detail, doesn’t it? What am I to do with this?”

Vegeta looked up in spite of himself as Freeza shifted so that he could see the Earthling stood not far behind him. The little emperor seemed to be enjoying himself immensely, which irritated Zarbon who knew so little of his plans. He looked at the woman and found to his surprise she had ceased her carpet appraisal and was staring with wide, fearful eyes at the Saiyan, though her face was still angled downwards.

“What to do, what to do…?” His lordship mused. “You see, I’m given to understand that the Capsule department is ticking along nicely without her, and as the advanced scouter project is in such capable hands I don’t see that she is particularly necessary to either laboratory. What do you think Zarbon?”

“Quite so, my lord.” He replied automatically, greedily watching Vegeta’s face for a reaction. He was beginning to understand Freeza’s motive.

“If anything I think her usefulness has been overstated - at least in her _official capacity_ .” Freeza took a long sip of his wine, his red eyes also locked on Vegeta’s face. “It’s been a long time since I gave you anything, hasn’t it? I shall rectify that now: consider this woman a gift from me to you, Vegeta - a reward for all your _hard work_ since returning to me. I shall have her reassigned as your personal attendant, to do with as you wish. It seems only fitting as you seem intent on doing so anyway.”

There was silence between them. Vegeta was frozen, his lips pressed together and his furrowed brow unmoving. Freeza waited a few moments before leaning forward, his smirk sliding away to be replaced with a frown.

“I think after such a magnanimous gesture from your master some appearance of appreciation is called for.” He said, his voice turning cold. When Vegeta still did not answer Freeza closed his eyes and sucked in a breath through his nose, a motion familiar to Zarbon as one that often preceded his lordship’s rages. “Well Zarbon, it would appear that our ‘Prince’ has chosen to be _ungrateful_ , that he would reject this generous gift from his kind and _tolerant_ master. What is your opinion on the matter?”

“If the director doesn’t feel he requires a personal attendant then I’m sure the soldiers could make use of her, after all the arena can only hold their attention for so long. She’s not exactly to my taste of course, but to those less refined I’m sure she could provide some passing entertainment.”

As Zarbon gave his damning reply she flinched, drawing his eye, and he suspected that beside Vegeta himself he was probably the only one to see her desperately mouthing at the Saiyan.

_Please!_

It was all too perfect. Freeza was sighing and turning away from Vegeta to issue a command to Zarbon when Vegeta finally broke his silence.

“I apologize, my lord, for my tardy response.” He offered, his voice barely keeping its usual even tenor. Zarbon could see that every word was like barbed wire being pulled from his throat. “I was rendered speechless by your graciousness, and I accept with thanks.”

“Hmph. Honestly Vegeta, that’s not good enough now.” Freeza replied churlishly. “You had every opportunity to accept when it was offered, now I think more is called for. If you want her you can beg for her.”

Vegeta stared at him nonplussed, glanced around the room and finally returned his gaze to the woman. She was trembling, her hands clasping and unclasping as she desperately tried to keep herself from full-blown panic. Zarbon smiled, once again enjoying this game. There was no outcome that wouldn’t amuse him greatly, either he refused and watched her torn apart by ruffians or he accepted at the cost of his precious dignity. Zarbon waited.

Vegeta closed his eye for a moment, and when he reopened it he was staring blankly ahead, his gaze fixed at some unseen point just above Freeza’s head. It was a familiar look, the Saiyan’s only defence in these situations. To Zarbon’s delight, Vegeta took to one knee and performed a stiff salute, bowing his now impassive face.

“I, Director Vegeta of Lord Freeza’s Imperial Forces, humbly request permission to take ownership of asset F-735-CCB.”

Freeza sniffed. “You’ll have to feed it, clothe it and take it for walkies.” He warned. “All her personal needs, housing and subsistence will be your responsibility. Are you up to the task?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Well then, we’re missing just one tiny little magic word, aren’t we?”

There was a pause, during which Zarbon imagined he could see Vegeta clenching his jaw.

“Please.”

Freeza laughed and shook his head in mock fondness. “Alright, you can get up now. You may have her, and you can put her where you like. Just try not to break it, there will _not_ be a replacement. Consider yourselves dismissed.”

Vegeta stood, still stiff and unreadable, and turned to leave. The woman didn’t move however, until Zarbon caught her eye and jerked his chin towards the door. He didn’t care much for her safety, but if she got herself killed now the game would be over too soon. She took the hint and scurried, head bowed, out of the Wardroom behind her new master.

 

* * *

 

He set a brisk pace. Bulma was forced to break into a conspicuous trot in order to catch up, and when she did he cut her off the moment she tried to speak to him.

“Walk behind me, keep your back straight and your eyes lowered and never directly address me.” He ordered quietly without looking at her. “At all times you must refer to me as ‘sir’ or ‘your highness’ and only when I have spoken to you first.”

His gravity affected her, and her anger at being interrupted by him gave way to uneasiness. She did as she was told and fell into step behind him, trying to walk with as much dignity as possible. The events of the last hour were still sinking in, and the full ramifications of them had yet to hit her, but she understood one thing at least; Vegeta had just been humiliated in front of almost every high-ranking individual in the compound, and he had still managed to save her - again. In actual fact, the humiliation stemmed partially _because_ he had saved her. She wanted to thank him, to talk to him, or at the very least find out what they were going to do next, but she understood his reluctance to be seen engaging with her in public. Her uneasiness remained but her trembling and immediate terror drained away with every step they took away from the Wardroom.

They were on the upper floor of the first circle, and she imagined they were headed somewhere private where Vegeta would feel safer discussing matters with her further. She chose to trust him. Ala, however, was not persuaded.

 _I have no advice to offer you here, child._ She fretted. _I don’t know his motives or his intent, you must tread with caution._

_He won’t hurt me._

_You have no certainty of that. Remember who and what he is. Thanks to Freeza there is no longer any restraint on his behaviour towards you, and who knows what desire he might now indulge?_

Bulma sent her thoughts back firmly. _I’m not afraid, please trust me._

As she hadn’t much choice in the matter Ala submitted, but Bulma could feel her discomfort.

 _Let me handle this now,_ Bulma suggested, _I think it would be best if I didn’t have any distractions while dealing with him._

Ala acquiesced, though not entirely willingly, and Bulma felt the simultaneous relief and emptiness that accompanied the severing of their connection. Vegeta was still walking, and Bulma cursed herself for not having memorised the route. She couldn’t focus when her brain was being piggybacked like that.

He took a turn and she followed him, watching his back the whole time. A caped female officer passed them and she glanced down quickly, but not before the officer clocked Bulma and quirked a curious brow at Vegeta. He ignored her and continued on, Bulma close behind.

After some minutes of walking in silence he stopped abruptly. Bulma halted too, expecting further instruction, but instead the door to his immediate right slid open and he disappeared through it. She hesitated a moment before following him in.

She knew immediately where she was. The door had opened in response to a command from his scouter, and there was only one room on the base that he could access that way. She realised that she was in his private quarters.

“Wait here.” He said tersely. “Don’t move, don’t touch anything, I will return shortly.”

With that he passed out of the room into an adjoining chamber and Bulma, finally free from scrutiny, had the leisure to look around her.

The first thing she noted was the size. This first room was clearly some sort of reception room with two doors at the far end, which assumedly led to a bed chamber and a wash room. Behind one of them was Vegeta, doing heavens knew what. They weren’t the plain and functional doors she’d seen in the wider circles either, they were decorative with square framed panels that Bulma thought looked like some science fiction take on old fashioned Japanese paper screens. The walls were not the stark white panels or bare grey metal she’d seen elsewhere but like the rest of the first circle had been plastered and painted, in this case a pastel mauve, and the lacquered wood floor was host to a large, thick rug that covered most of the room. In the middle of the room there was a small table and an odd sideways banana looking thing that Bulma guessed was meant to be couch, a single padded chair and against the adjacent wall was a mobile workstation complete with access panel, all in shades of grey and black. It was clear to Bulma that this dwelling had never been altered by its occupant, and aside from the enforced luxury of pleasant furnishings and basic decor it was positively Spartan. There were shelves on two of the walls with nothing on them, not even dust. The walls were bare of adornment, there wasn’t even a bit of clutter on the table. The workstation showed some signs of use but everything was scrupulously neat, clean and impersonal. She imagined he didn’t do much here. There were no recreational items in sight, not even a book. This room looked like it wasn’t even lived in.

He returned without warning, his expression doing little to assuage her newly growly concern as he stalked into the middle of the room. He didn’t address her but instead began to move furniture. The couch he picked up like it was weightless and placed it against the wall at the point farthest from the door through which he’d just entered. The small table he then placed similarly.

“You will sleep here.” He said, his back turned to her.

“I have to thank you for stopping them back there, if you hadn’t save me-”

“Shut up.” He growled, still not looking at her. Bulma heard the echos of Ala’s warnings suddenly as her blood turned cold.

“Wha- excuse me?”

“I said _shut your damned mouth._ ” He spun about to face her, his face livid. “Do you have _any_ idea what you’ve done? Do you?! None of this would have happened if it weren’t for you!”

“How is this my fault?” Bulma was already on the verge of tears but she held them back with heroic effort. “You’re the one who abducted me, you’re the one who moved me to your lab, _you’re_ the one who was looking at me like a hungry dog every damned day! Did you want me to ignore you?”

“Of course you’d think like that, because you can’t _conceive_ of being ignored yourself. And of course nothing is ever your fault, is it? That’s why you act this way, put yourself in situations against your own self-interest, because you just can’t bear to live in a world where you are not important. Get it through your head, you stupid woman: _you are not important!_ ”

“Again, why are you angry at _me?_ They’re the ones who humiliated you, not me! And you had the option, you could have lied and told them you didn’t care about me but you didn’t, you-”

“No!” He gestured sharply with one arm to silence her. “I’m done listening to you. I didn’t ‘save’ you for any noble reason, I was securing an asset for my lab - nothing more! They can dispose of you once I’m confident you have left someone who I can trust with my cybernetics!

“Let’s get one thing straight.” He growled, moving close to her. “I do not, have not and will not ever ‘care’ for you. You are a thing, an object, useful and occasionally interesting but _nothing more._ Your imagined intimacy between us is a fantasy, and I will no longer play a part in propagating that lie for you. From now on you will only ever speak when spoken to, you will go to your lab at the times I assign for you, and complete your work as before. The closest we’ll ever come to each other will be strictly scouter related and I never - NEVER - want to hear your unsolicited opinion on anything ever again. Do I make myself clear?”

Bulma just stared at him, tears swimming in her eyes. She felt shame as one broke its banks and escaped down her cheek. He took a step back from her, which somehow didn’t make her feel any safer.

“Woman, I asked you a question.”

She had never hated him more the whole time she’d known him. “I understand.” She growled back through gritted teeth.

He held her gaze a moment longer before averting his with an unreadable expression. “Better. Wait here. I will be gone a little while. Do not admit anyone into this room. Do you know how to operate the door panel?”

She nodded stiffly.

“You may use the washing facilities through that door. Don’t even touch the other door. If you do I will know and I will not hesitate to terminate you myself. Is that also understood?”

She nodded again. He gave her a curt nod back and stepped away from her to exit the room. As his hand hovered over the door access panel he seemed to hesitate, and Bulma thought for a moment he might stop, turn around, but the moment passed and he was out of the door, his half cape the last thing she saw fluttering behind him as the door snapped shut.

Exhausted, terrified and completely overwhelmed Bulma collapsed onto her ‘bed’ and wept into her hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Just a little reminder if you decided the read the chapter first before heading over to TPTH to vote for Choices (which you're absolutely not obliged to do but it would be effin sweet) Voting closes on the 28th of October (2018) so please please if you like this story and want to show your appreciation to its poor tired writer pop over and drop your ballot.
> 
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	15. Fracture

_ Apparently a person called “Freeza” was coming. It was an official visit, he got the impression the staff hadn’t been given much notice however from their harried expressions. It had been an enjoyable few days as the household staff performed wonders in cooking, cleaning and making the palace presentable for such a guest. His nursery maids were requisitioned to help and as his father was in almost constant conference with the elite guards there was nobody to train or mind him, so young Vegeta was left to roam free. He took full advantage of this. _

_ He dressed himself, not entirely successfully but he didn’t care about that. Instead he snuck from his room to the kitchens where, to his delight, not only were the staff too busy to bow and scrape, they barely noticed him at all. _

_ He took what he wanted from the the counters, a breakfast as nutritionally balanced as one would expect a child his age to construct, and weaved between the hurried cooks as they swore and sweated over their work. He bumped into one cook who looked down at him with furious eyes and a cleaver in his raised hands, but he was recognized immediately. The tiny prince furrowed his brow in irritation. _

_ “Your highness, what are you-? Never mind, no time.” The worker let his cleaver clatter to the counter and reached across somewhere Vegeta couldn’t reach. “Here, have these, and try to keep out of trouble.” _

_ The cook dropped a box of exquisite cakes on top of Vegeta’s purloined breakfast and ushered him away from the cooks area with very little ceremony. The boy was confused, but also quietly pleased that his tutors hadn’t been called to remove him. He was enjoying watching the chaos. _

_ “Radditz! Get down from there! Gine, can’t you control that boy?” _

_ Attracted by this sound Vegeta glanced over and laughed to see a wild-haired boy near his own age climbing the pot rack to try to reach a very large cut of bleeding meat. _

_ “Down, down Radditz!” A harassed woman with a pretty face was trying to pull him down but the boy was unruly. He giggled and pulled at her mid-length hair as the other cooks berated her. Another came to help her, walloping the boy as she did. _

_ “You milk-drinker Gine, you could have been a fighter but you’re too gentle for anything outside of a kitchen.” _

_ Irritated but clearly unmoved she extracted her child from the other Saiyan’s headlock and placed him on his feet. “Take this and go play alright? Look, there’s another boy over there, go see if he’ll play with you.” _

_ And before the other cooks could try to stop her she’d pushed little Radditz away with an armful of jerky towards Vegeta, who stood apart in amazement as this little lad came tottering over with his prize. _

_ “That’s the prince! - Gine you idiot don’t you recognize him? - YES I mean the crown prince, look at his pissing hair! - Oh we are going to get it later-” _

_ Vegeta didn’t listen to anymore of their anxious babble. Instead he looked squarely at the other boy, who with a serious look in his eye slowly proffered a stick of jerky, and nodded at him. It was a formal agreement between the two, no words necessary, and with that they left the kitchen. _

_ Later that day Radditz suffered a minor beating from his father, a warrior named Bardock, after being caught eating ‘stolen’ sweetmeats in the prince’s private rooms. The prince had tried to object to this but the King, harangued and with no patience for Vegeta’s childishness, administered a similar lesson of his own that swiftly silenced the matter. _

 

* * *

 

Bulma paced the room like a caged tiger. After indulging in private hysterics she’d completely cried herself out, but then she’d felt the exhaustion that often accompanies such expressions of emotion. She knew if she gave into her body she’d simply fall asleep on that couch and there wasn’t time for that, so eventually, by force of will, she’d taken to her feet to try to shake it. She looked at the time on the access panel, Vegeta had now been gone nearly an hour.

The way he’d spoken to her, his fury, his insults, she’d anticipated none of it. She’d expected something cohesive with his previous behaviour, not the bile and abuse she’d been subjected to. She heard the echoes of his words and she rejected them hard, refusing to examine his outburst. Realistically she knew her refusal to process what had just happened was probably repression, but she was too hurt and angry. Instead she turned her attention on the present.

With the passing of her hysteria the coldly logical part of her intellect reasserted itself, and while she waited she began to methodically assess her new situation: to all intents and purposes she was still a slave, that much was clear, but now she held an even lower rank than before. A personal attendant, as Freeza had called her, was at best a valet or secretary, and at worst a tool for whatever needs the owner had, and she’d been awarded in the expectation that her function would be very much the latter. From what she knew of Vegeta she didn’t anticipate that from him, but prudish as he was she forced herself to admit that even if as she suspected she knew him better than anyone else alive did, she still didn’t know him very well. But he  _ was  _ prudish, and she was certain his experience with sex began and ended with her alone. And she was fairly certain if he was going to indulge in the carnal he’d do it in his own bed, not assign her a sleeping area.

So if, as she hoped, he hadn’t taken her for a pleasure slave, what was his reason for keeping her alive? The obvious one, she concluded, that he had already provided, and that was to keep her working on his scouter. She didn’t believe his threat that he would let her be killed, as much as she seethed that he’d threatened it at all, they both knew she was too useful. No, he wasn’t going to hurt her, not physically, but emotionally and mentally? She didn’t know. He could unintentionally leave her guessing and fretting for days, mulling over the slightest word or gesture and its meaning, but this evening she’d had a taste of what he could do when he was  _ trying _ to hurt her.

Her stomach rumbled. She ignored it. Instead she sat down at the access panel and booted it up, pleased to find it unlocked. The hopelessness of half an hour ago had subsided and she felt oddly calm. Her future was now unknown and so far from her control that she did the only sensible thing she could do at that moment and refused to think about it. She’d deal with it when she knew  _ what _ she was dealing with, but until then she refused to panic. Having finally regained her composure, she reopened her connection to Ala.

_ Thanks be, are you unharmed? _

Bulma expressed as briefly as she could that she was physically fine and had reason to believe that she would remain so.

_ Kami be praised. Can you show me where you are? _

She did, relaying visually to Ala the dimensions and contents of Vegeta’s room, including the unlocked access panel.

_ Very little of use here, but at least you have a console. You can work from here remotely if we’re careful. _

_ Is that all you think about? _ Bulma responded tersely.

_ My apologies child, but please try to understand. Our work is integral to this situation, and now more so than ever it is imperative that we expedite your removal, do you not agree? _

Bulma did, though grudgingly, and at Ala’s request entered the washroom. It was like the rest of the apartment, lacking in life but also very well fitted up with the usual necessities and even a soaking tub that looked like it had never been used.

_ Are your rooms like this, Ala?  _ Bulma asked. 

_ That would be nice, wouldn’t it? No I’m afraid overseers apartments are much like the one you left, only singular. You tell me he won’t let you through the other door? In that case best to be safe. Return to the console please. _

Bulma did, though she was concerned that Vegeta could return at any time.

_ I’m currently tracking him through the compound via my sources. He’s in administration currently, I’ll tell you when he leaves there. _

Reassured, Bulma re-accessed the console and started to look around. His clearance was high so she could immediately delve into departments and networks that previously she’d had to perform cyber wizardry to access. She was surprised he’d left her alone with it.

_ It’s very unlikely you’ll have much opportunity to come see me in person now, but the physical work is almost done anyway. Your security bypass is what we really need now, and I can use this console to give you private access to that. You’ll have to follow the system path I give you exactly, but it will take me a day or two to have that set up. Will you be alright? _

_ I think so. _ She thought bitterly.  _ If he was going to hurt me he’d have done it by now, and he clearly needs my skills otherwise right about now I’d be in the soldiers’ mess. That was the threat anyway. _

_ Yes, I recall. _

_ Then you also recall how we got caught? _

Ala did not reply immediately, and Bulma pressed on.

_ We were reported, Ala. Someone sent that footage to Zarbon knowingly, who would do that - and why?  _

_ And you believe that I know? _

_ You didn’t seem surprised, you never asked me if I knew how it happened, and to not be curious about something like that is pretty suspect, Ala. What do you know that you aren’t telling me? _

Bulma imagined she felt Ala sighing.  _ I know who it was, how they did it and why. I am not going to tell you so do not ask, just know that the situation has been taken care of. _

_ What does that mean, Ala? _

_ It means there is no longer a threat from that quarter and I need you not to press the issue. _

Bulma was preparing to defy that request when Ala stopped her.

_ He’s left admin and appears to be on his way to you.  _

He hadn’t specifically forbidden her to use the access panel but all the same Bulma quickly logged out of it and left the console. She guessed she had maybe ten minutes at the most before he came back. She glanced around the room to be sure everything was how she left it, and returned to the sofa.

_ You should go,  _ she told Ala,  _ I might need to concentrate. _

As requested Ala withdrew, leaving behind sincere wishes for Bulma’s safety and wellbeing. Her mind thus secure she took to the sofa, where she sat stiffly and waited.

 

* * *

 

He still didn’t really believe what had happened. The raw memory of his humiliation in the Wardroom was so surreal, almost to to point of irreality. There were moments walking back from admin where he wondered if it really had happened or if he’d just finally lost his mind, but there was no doubting the evidence. The control panel for his door clearly displayed that the room was occupied. He wrinkled his nose in irritation, he’d always hated that particular feature.

He stared at the tiny light. That lit bulb declared to the world at large that although Vegeta himself stood outside it, his private apartment was not empty. His rage returned and he clenched his fists to stop his hands shaking.

It was all her fault, every part of it. He had no regrets about the words he’d spoken to her in his anger, they were absolutely correct. If she had behaved with the decorum befitting her position they would never have gotten into this mess and he would not have had to spend a mortifying half hour making humiliating demands of an administrative lackey. He’d made a formal request for quarters with a second sleeping room, and in the meantime had ordered a panel divider and bed for his current quarters, which was more than enough data for the worker to make his own deductions before he’d even gotten to the business of having Bulma’s personnel file updated. The knowing smirk the little clerk gave him made Vegeta want to punch his lights out, as did the knowledge that he’d have to wait at least a day for the furnishings.

He grit his teeth and unlocked his door, stepping into his rooms. He didn’t need to look to know she was there, for one thing his scouter detected her lifesign, but more infuriatingly his senses were assaulted by the infectious  _ smell _ of her. She had already permeated the very air he breathed in what used to be his private sanctum. He wondered how she even dared to exist right now, and yet there she sat, bold as brass, on  _ his _ sofa in  _ his  _ living space. Her hands were folded in her lap and she sat straight backed, eyes fixed on the far wall. She didn’t look at him as he stepped further into the room, but he thought he saw her sit a little straighter, and the corners of her mouth set a little harder. Well fine, he thought to himself, if she was finally going to take his advice on board then so much the better.

“You now have biometric access to this room.” He stated bluntly, like her avoiding eye contact. “Use it responsibly.”

She said nothing.

“Well?” He snapped impatiently.

“Do you require an answer,  _ your highness _ ?” Bulma almost snarled in return. The venom in her voice rather startled him, though he hid it well. He’d never heard her sound so coldly hateful, not even when he’d first brought the spitting hellcat to Planet Cold. He most certainly didn’t like it.

“You will acknowledge when you’re spoken to.” He fired back, risking a glance at her. Her gaze turned to meet his immediately and he resisted the urge to step back from the deeply resentful glare she now subjected him to.

“Understood,  _ sir _ .”

He was spared having to make any further reply by a beep from his door’s control panel, a sound indicating that the few things he was able to procure that evening had arrived. He opened the door only halfway, not allowing the courier to look inside, and took possession of the items himself. The door slid shut without ceremony.

“These are the possessions from your previous accommodation. You will arrange them in such a way that I don’t have to see them.” He said, tossing towards her an efficiently wrapped bundle containing the towels and clothes that her previous roommates would have been ordered to pack for her. Also within he assumed would be what few personal effects someone like her might accumulate. He also set down a plastic tub on the bare table. “And your evening meal. From here on you will dine as you did previously and follow the same work pattern. In the morning you will go to the canteen, then to Si’eth’s lab. As soon as the work day is ended you will again attend the canteen and the recreation facilities there then return straight here without deviation before the third block. You will admit no-one else into these rooms and you will tell no-one any details about my living arrangements. Your weekly rest day will be spent in whatever manner I deem appropriate.”

“Fine.” She growled.

“I am going to use the washroom. After I am done you may use it as you please, but you will leave everything as you found it.” He crossed to the washroom and opened the door. “You may never enter my room. Under any circumstances. Knock once and wait if you need to speak to me.”

As he passed into the threshold of his bathroom he recalled that he’d not long before told her to never speak to him uninvited, but he refused to clarify himself to her. It’s not like she was well known for respecting orders anyway. Then he again contradicted himself by neither insisting on an acknowledgement nor waiting for one before closing the bathroom door behind him.

 

* * *

 

 

The next day began roughly as described by Vegeta. Bulma woke early, after a night of imaginary confrontations and little sleep, and waited impatiently as the sounds of Vegeta using the bathroom dwindled. When she was certain he’d retreated to his own room she used the facilities herself and then dressed for work. The weird alien sofa had been comfortable enough, and before she’d lain down Vegeta had emerged from his den to accept a delivery and silently deposited a neatly folded stack of assorted bedding at her feet. He didn’t seem to expect a thank you, which was just as well. She left the rooms before him and headed straight for the canteen.

She was not prepared for her reception. She sought out familiar faces and it wasn’t long before she found most of her old roommates. She greeted them but assumed they hadn’t seen her as they didn’t wave back. She shrugged, still focussed on Vegeta and his pathetic tantrum, and retrieved her food. When she returned, intending to join them she found they’d already left. Their half eaten bowls were still on the table, which struck her as being unlike them. She shrugged again, and spied her current labmates not far off, so she joined them instead.

The instant she sat down the atmosphere dropped several degrees; chatter dropped off and eyes were subtly averted from her. She greeted the table and a reluctant reply was murmured by some of them. Si’eth himself was not present, so she tried to strike up conversation with the person nearest to her, but it was uphill work. Eventually she fell into an awkward silence and picked at her breakfast. It appeared to Bulma that the change in her status had affected more than just her accommodation.

What were they all thinking about her? What did they believe she’d just come from? Were they sitting in silent sympathy for her or were they actively trying to shun her? And if the latter was it because they all thought of her as Vegeta’s? Being a personal slave had always seemed to her to be the lowest of the low, and perhaps they no longer wanted to be associated with her because of it. She wanted to shake them, insist that nothing had changed! She was still the same Bulma, would still be doing the same work! To her greater shame she felt tears prick her eyes and she looked deeply into her unappetizing porridge-like breakfast to hide them.

“Good morning, Bulma.”

“Hmm? - oh! Good morning Si’eth.” Si’eth, appearing seemingly from nowhere, greeted her brightly and sat down opposite her.

“I’ve had my instructions from Director Vegeta and am glad we won’t be losing you after yesterday’s little upset.” He smiled but it was forced, and Bulma had the distinct impression that it was aimed as much at the rest of the staff as at her.  _ Smile along _ , his eyes seemed to say,  _ everything is normal _ . One or two of their tablemates did seemed to relax a little, and even attempted some conversation, but it didn’t feel natural. She still felt very much like she could cry.

They left at the usual time, returned to the usual lab and performed the usual work. Si’eth flitted around the lab restlessly, self-consciously fussy and always, Bulma noticed, speaking slightly louder when addressing her, like he wanted the whole lab to hear him talk to her. Of course she knew what he was trying to do, he felt the same reluctance to be near her that the others did but was refusing to accept it and was desperately trying to falsify a sense of normality. He was very bad at it.

That day felt three times its real length, and days on Planet Cold were already nine hours longer than on Earth. By the time she was able to leave she’d already fought off a string of panicky crying fits, refusing to lose it in front of so many people but as the day went on also unable to bear the mounting tension in the lab. She scurried ahead of her labmates to the canteen, where to her relief she ran smack dab into her old roommates.

She slid her food tray onto their table and eased herself onto their bench, smiling warmly as she did so. If anyone understood what she was going through right now it would be them.

“Girls, hey! I missed you this morning, you were gone before I could join you.”

“Yeah,” muttered one, “sorry about that. We had to go, y’know. Had to catch up on stuff.”

“Oh, I thought you hadn’t seen me.”

There was another awkward silence.

“Is ...is something wrong?” Bulma asked, the brief relief she’d felt melting away into further anxiety.

In lieu of reply the girls all looked at each other and then to an empty space on the bench. It occurred to Bulma that at previous mealtimes the six of them would fill every space at this table.

“Hey ...where’s Inapp?” Bulma asked, the anxiety evolving into cold, hard dread. Her former friends looked at each other again and for some awkward moments she thought none of them would answer her, until the genderless one took it upon herself to do so.

“You haven’t been told.” She stated into her food, not looking at Bulma. “Inapp is dead. She died last night, while we were here.”

“You mean, right here? In the canteen?” Bulma gasped, mouth agape. She hadn’t much liked Inapp but she hadn’t wanted her dead. Her informant nodded. “But how?”

“We were talking, eating, and then she gets this funny look in her eye. She had a fit, and died on the table. The medics say she choked on her food due to the convulsions. Lots of witnesses to call it natural, unfortunate,  _ unsuspicious. _ ” There was a loaded pause. “We always thought it was a shame how you two never really got along.”

She sat in shocked silence.

“Bulma, we think it would be best for everyone if you didn’t sit with us anymore.”

Numb, and still reeling from the new information, Bulma gingerly took her tray and retreated from them without a word or glance. She found a space at the end of a table where she knew nobody and ate alone.

 

*   *   *

 

Vegeta’s room was empty, and she thanked Kami for small blessings as she thumbprinted into the room. Her eyes were blurry from the tears she hadn’t been able to hold back during dinner and as she achieved solitude she released the rest, collapsing messily against the closed door. It took her several minutes of sobbing before she realised the room had altered somewhat dramatically. For one the sofa was back in it’s previous position and for another the room was made some feet smaller by the addition of a thin, upright divider, behind which she realised was her new bed. She stumbled to it, lifting the cloth flap that served as a door, and tumbled into the bed.

It had already been dressed, which the quietly rational corner of Bulma’s distressed brain thought uncharacteristically generous. The rest of her was occupied with the business of unrestrained weeping.

She realised now how much she’d been relying on other people to make her reality bearable. Despite her fierce independence she was a deeply social creature and needed to know she belonged to someone, somewhere. It’s what pushed her to her insane quest for the Dragonballs at the tender age of sixteen, and kept her coming back to it. She had no real friends outside her own family, not peers anyway. Finding Goku, Yamcha and the others had given her a taste of what it was to belong to a group of people, however infrequently they saw each other, and made her realise how much she’d needed that growing up. Here, although she missed her family and friends horribly, she’d been able to carve out a little niche of belonging. She’d felt that her roommates had been a sort of club, and to a degree her labmates too, and realised that she’d taken their welcoming for granted. Today she finally realised, more than ever, more than the first day she’d arrived, how very alone she was.

And Vegeta. All she’d ever intended to do was help him, and how had that turned out? He hated her now, and as her anger was suffocated by the intense despair she now endured she finally allowed herself to admit that some of his words had hurt because they were true. He was right about her need for attention. Part of what had attracted her to him was the glamour of being the only one who  _ could _ get his attention, but that was all over now. She’d seriously jeopardised her only chance of getting home to her family for a vain flirtation, one based almost entirely on her own lust and ego, and now even that was lost to her as he determinedly drew up new walls between them.

He was lying about one thing though; there was no way in hell he hadn’t cared about her. She recalled the pot of moisturiser, miraculously returned to her in her bundle of paltry belongings. If he didn’t care about her why would he risk a gesture like that, one that couldn’t be made without giving away how well he’d been listening to her?

It was at this point in her musings that she felt Ala’s feathery touch on her mind. Through the misery her angry reignited, hot and sharp.

_ Go away! _

_ Bulma, you haven’t checked in with me all day, I need to know how you are. _

_ You killed that girl, didn’t you?! _

Ala seemed to pause.  _ What do you mean? _

_ Inapp!  _ Bulma turned on the bed, gripping the sheets in her anger.  _ It was Inapp who sold me out, wasn’t it? And you killed her! _

_ And what makes you think that? _

_ You said that the threat was neutralised, and if that threat was a person that means you killed them. _

_ One could argue that, yes. _

_ Inapp died suddenly yesterday, while I was stuck here in Vegeta’s room. I don’t know how or why other than that she didn’t like me but she’s the one, and you ‘dealt with her’, didn’t you? _

_ That would be quite the coincidence. _

_ Tell me the truth! _ She nearly screamed this out loud. She could feel Ala’s apprehension clearly through their link, and knew she’d unnerved her. She also knew she was right. The truth had hit her as she was leaving her roommates for the last time. The girl’s health had been robust, and she’d often mocked Bulma’s comparatively poor physiology. The others knew something was wrong too, and they all suspected it linked back to Bulma; people like Inapp didn’t just keel over and die. That was the reason people avoided her, they worried they’d be next. Bulma was dangerous, Bulma might get you killed.

With a sigh that Bulma felt through her whole body, Ala bent against the force of her unchecked feelings.

_ Inapp was a resistance member. I placed you under her watch purposefully. She reported your movements to me in the early days. As your potential became clearer she grew jealous, and when I chose you over her to accompany me on our escape mission she was furious. She thought she wouldn’t be discovered when she sent the footage to Zarbon, and I admit she covered her tracks well. Her ability to manipulate the systems here is why I brought her on board in the first place, but she was never as good as she thought she was. I discovered her deception and terminated her. She was a danger to the resistance’s current and future efforts. It was the only course of action. Now, are you satisfied? _

She wasn’t. If anything she was drained. The fight had gone out of her and she just wanted the universe to stop so she could get off. She told Ala so.

_ I understand how you feel. _

_ I sincerely doubt that. _

_ I will contact you tomorrow. _

_ If you must. _

With that Ala left her, having realised that further efforts to win Bulma over in her current mood would be wasted. It was early but Bulma was more than done with this day. She forced herself out of bed to use the bathroom, then sought her bundle which had inevitably been displaced when the bed had arrived. From it she extracted her moisturiser, and placed it firmly on a small corner unit that had also been provided. The rest of the bundle she shoved into the storage compartment under the bed. She didn’t bother to undress before climbing into bed.

 

* * *

 

 

Vegeta’s day had been less than satisfactory. The woman was gone before he’d left his room that morning, which gave him a moment’s concern. He wondered if giving her free access to the room had been wise. His own sleep had been poor and he suddenly realised that it was only recently he’d gotten used to sleeping well. It made sense that with the decline in discomfort from his new scouter he would begin to sleep better but it brought into sharp focus those occasions when he didn’t. Frowning, he left his chambers.

His appetite was also lacking that morning. He filled a plate as he’d become used to doing in the last few weeks but found himself pushing the food around with very little interest. In the end he gave it up and got to work. He had three labs overdue for inspection, and was waiting to be notified that his requisition order had been filled, but the usual grind of his daily tasks filled him with total apathy, even more than before. He considered a trip to the Saibaman department for a work out but couldn’t muster the energy to even walk there, let alone engage in his preferred exercise.

Thankfully his furniture requests were delivered that afternoon, and after overseeing the installation of the screen and ordering the maintenance workers to make up the bed his working day was over. He realised he hadn’t eaten since picking at breakfast, and forced himself to the officers’ mess for a proper meal, but when he got there he just couldn’t seem to swallow much of anything. In the end he ate a meagre amount and pushed the rest aside. One day of poor eating wouldn’t have a detrimental effect, he decided. He rose and began to head back to his rooms, but when his data tablet informed him that his rooms weren’t empty he found he’d actually prefer to take a walk around the compound instead. At least he could be relatively alone that way.

He let his feet wander where they would, but came to realise that he was headed towards Bulma’s lab. He frowned and stopped. Not Bulma’s lab,  _ Si’eth’s _ lab. He turned back.

She was still in his head. He’d believed everything he said yesterday, or at least had done when he said it, and he was still furious with her but couldn’t deny that his determination to be indifferent towards her was already wavering. He was no fool, and as much as he wanted to pretend otherwise he couldn’t deny that she’d had an impact on him. His life had dissolved into a grey, pointless monotony, something he was mechanically ghosting through without truly caring if he lived to see the next day, but she had sparked a new interest. He was engaged by her, amused by her and later on attracted by her, and all these sensations she had indulged and rewarded and he had returned for more. He now faced a return to the drudgery of his previous life, without hope of anything to stimulate his suffocating mind. He was still too angry with her and this entire situation to consider attempting to avert that, but also his stomach clenched at the thought of shutting down the one interesting thing that he’d encountered in years.

He checked his tablet again; she was still in his room. He sighed and turned towards the first circle.

 

*   *   *

 

To his eye alone the room seemed empty, but between his scouter and his senses there was no mistaking her presence. Vegeta stepped cautiously into his living room, noting it was untouched. He made no sound as he stalked across to what was now effectively her room, and was glad of his silence when he lifted the cloth door to find her fast asleep. He had a moment’s self-disgust at his own cowardice as he realised he was relieved that he needn’t interact with her this evening.

He was just about to withdraw when his eye fell on a white pot resting on her nightstand. It seemed familiar. He squinted at it a moment before realising it was the pot of moisturiser he’d given her. His stomach churned with some unfamiliar feeling. He glanced at the woman sleeping in the bed to try to dispel it but the discomfort only increased when he saw she’d been crying, and by the look of her puffy red eyes it had been heavy and recent.

This time he lowered the flap and walked away. 

The last time they’d spoken had been the previous evening, and he remembered with perfect clarity the visceral hatred on her face. He’d had more he wanted to say to her which he had rehearsed perfectly on the walk back to the room but that look had stopped him. Instead he’d retreated to his room, and there fought with himself for a good portion of the night. After all he’d explicitly told her he wanted their relationship back on a impersonal footing, so he shouldn’t care if her opinion of him was unalterably sunk. The fact that he  _ did  _ care, and deeply so, was in and of itself a separate issue that left him furious with her, Zarbon, Freeza and especially himself.

Why couldn’t he detach? Why couldn’t he just bleed the anger out like before and be done with it? Before her he had control, he was master of his emotions and they were silent, but now thoughts and feelings long dormant clamoured for his attention. He was besieged within his own mind by contradictory desires, even as one part of his brain demanded he wound her pride another begged him to sooth it. He wanted to grab her and shake some sense into her but he recoiled from himself in horror at the thought of harming her. It confused and disgusted him further that it was more than just that ambivalence which kept him from such acts of violence, it was the immutable fact that the moment he laid a finger on her he would no longer be in control of anything. He would lose himself in the degradation of bending his immense strength to an unworthy purpose, or he would crumble and she would own him again just by her mere proximity. He wasn’t sure which option was worse.

He stepped into his own bedchamber and shut the door firmly behind him. It had no locking mechanism, another factor that made this whole arrangement deeply uncomfortable for him. His bedchamber was large but sparse; most officers of his rank would have filled their chambers with accoutrements, furnishings and trophies and the like, but Vegeta had never understood the appeal. Everything contained within that room was strictly functional, he hadn’t even had the wardrobe door replaced after putting a hole in it. He wondered momentarily if Bulma would approve of the room but furiously quelled the thought. Even in her sleep she was casting her witch’s magic on his troubled thoughts. She would never see it, she didn’t deserve to.

He thought about the moisturiser, and coloured slightly. It had seemed so simple at the time: she needed something, he could provide it at very little trouble or cost, what harm could it do? He saw now that his reasonings were a pathetic disguise for childish gift-giving, spurred by a primitive instinct that he didn’t know he had. He’d seen animals make offerings in the hopes of attaining a coupling, what made him any better than them? He growled in shame and considered storming in there and disposing of the embarrassing reminder of his weakness, but he remained where he was, stood now at the foot of his bed and glaring at the headboard. He told himself he just didn’t want to wake the woman and spark a fight over something as inconsequential as a pot of moisturiser, but though he berated himself for having lied to himself so much over the course of his relationship with Bulma he failed to see the irony of this latest self-deception.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dear readers. I wanted to apologise for the slightly shorter chapter while also thanking the lot of you for voting for me in the the Prince and the Heiress Annual Awards! We came 2nd and 3rd in our categories, which is fantastic for such a little known debut fic, and I want to thank each and every one of you for your comments, likes, votes and support. And especially to those artists who have made it their business to create incredible art inspired by this humble fanfic. The results are at the link at the end of this note and I highly recommend you have a look, if for no other reason than to find yourselves a few good reads. Thank you again, and I hope this chapter wasn't too much of a bummer for you. I promise it is ...necessary..
> 
> http://theprinceandtheheiress.tumblr.com/post/166990049396/2017-annual-awards-winners-announcement


	16. Balm

 

_A mere two days after his curtailed adventure with Radditz the young prince Vegeta found himself in the merciless hands of the head nurse, a fierce woman in household armour with calloused hands who, unlike all his other handlers, had some sort of special authority. All other servants in the palace had to scrape and obey when his royal highness made his demands, but only she would grab him by the hair at the base of his neck and throw him bodily into a bathtub without royal repercussion. His other maids were of various races but she was a full-blooded, scarred old Saiyan. She wasn’t often in the nursery, and Vegeta had some vague idea that this was not her only post, but as his world began and ended with what directly affected himself he didn’t know much about her, not even her name._

_He had learnt early on that she knew exactly where to slap a little boy’s legs to ensure the sharpest sting, and also that no complaint to his father would be entertained in regard to her. Strong as he already was she was that much stronger and would twist his ears painfully when he tried to struggle against baths, dressing and mealtimes. Generally he was languid and compliant, if not exactly friendly, and so her aid was only called for when he had a fit of temper. This morning however they were taking no risks and she had been present from the moment of his first waking._

_“You are having this bath, young man, and the more you fight me the longer it will take.” She declared, rubbing soap roughly into his hair. On days like this, when she was here by appointment (and not because his maids had given up during one of his tantrums) he almost enjoyed himself. He liked to push her, and she would push back with calm but equal force, her fearsomeness always tempered by her boundless self-control. Today his game was to make bath-time as difficult as possible._

_He squirmed, ducked, avoided and at one point stood up to splash her, laughing as he did so, but somehow as always he ended up clean and smelling of exotic oils. In a moment of pique she had pushed his head under the water without warning to rinse his hair, holding him for just a couple of seconds before allowing him to come up for air. He glared at her and then, suddenly smirking, stood up and shook his wet hair violently, spraying her with soapy bathwater. She leaned back, her mouth a grim line, and for a moment he thought he might get a clip on the ear, or maybe another drowning, but instead she cracked a grin._

_“You’d best get all that attitude out of your system before breakfast, little prince.” She laughed, waving in the younger maids to towel him off. He tried to take the towels to do it himself but as usual they just worked around his attempts at self-sufficiency with quiet efficiency. She glanced at the clock and stood up herself._

_“Fetch his dress armour, and don’t forget to oil his hair before you brush it. I have to report to the King.” She turned to leave, but glanced back at the boy at the bathroom door. “Oh and Vegeta, it’s very important that you behave today. Your mother will be there too, and I will be very angry with you if you embarrass her.”_

_Vegeta paused in his struggles to stare at her. He genuinely struggled to remember the last time he’d been allowed to see his mother. Their eyes met and, sensing he understood her, she nodded and left the nursery washroom. The maids thanked their various gods that he was too busy brooding on this development to give them much trouble after that._

 

* * *

 

Despite having slept early Bulma didn’t rise feeling rested. Her eyes were sore and she felt sick. She wanted to stay in the bed but disgust at where she was and whose air she was breathing forced her to her feet and into a shower. Besides which, she wanted to get to breakfast before everyone else. She threw her clothes on carelessly and was ready to leave barely fifteen minutes after waking. She stopped only to grudgingly rub some of the moisturiser over her face and sore eyes. Last night it had been a small solace, a reminder that he had and perhaps still did feel something towards her, but that tiny ray of optimism was all but gone this morning. She heard stirrings from his room and moved swiftly to leave. As she was closing the door she thought she heard his open, but she didn’t stop. She hurried instead out of the first circle and towards her canteen.

The first day she hadn’t taken in other people on her commute, too wrapped up in herself and her feelings to pay attention, but now she noticed the looks. Here there were far more officers and higher ranked personnel and though many ignored her she still received enough curious glances to feel uncomfortably conspicuous. Her researchers tunic was out of place here, as all her work and subsistence needs should be in the third or second circle, and she was mortified by the occasional smirk she received from those few that, having heard the embarrassing report about the Prince-Captain, had put two-and-two together in the few moments it took to walk by her. One officer even stopped his conversation upon seeing her, nudged his companion and whispered something in which she thought she could determine the word ‘Vegeta’. The companion laughed unpleasantly. Bulma bowed her head, cheeks ablaze, and hurried on.

It was a relief to make it to the third circle. There were enough researchers and low level personnel here that she could be mostly anonymous outside of the circles in which she’d lived or worked, and from those she considered herself excluded anyway. She peeked into the canteen and was relieved to find it as sparsely populated as she’d hoped at that hour. She grabbed food and found a seat to herself with a good view of the  room, deciding with bitter self-indulgent misery that she’d better get used to eating alone. As soon as people she recognised began to file in she swallowed her breakfast and hastened out of the canteen.

 

* * *

 

Si’eth observed Bulma in the lab again, his concern for her mounting. The previous day he’d been very diligent in ensuring the staff kept her feelings in mind and had personally spoken to all of them about it, and he flattered himself that he was successful. Inevitably some things had been a little awkward, it was to be expected, but other than that he felt he’d done an admirable job of maintaining normality in his lab. He was distressed then to find that despite everyone’s best efforts to be calm and considerate of her, Bulma was looking more depressed than before. She was also apparently growing sick again. As he’d already made every possible effort in the lab and with his staff he concluded that the source of her depression had to be in her new habitation with the Director.

His staff had been instructed to give her quiet and peace during this period of adjustment, and he was proud of how well they did that, speaking to her in hushed tones and only about work. He thought she must be very grateful for that. He also made sure to speak to her very audibly, to make it clear to everyone that everything in the lab was normal. For someone considered unskilled in social matters Si’eth thought he’d been doing very well, so it sickened his heart to see her dashing away a rogue tear after one particularly long quiet spell.

The staff themselves were concerned for her, as was made clear over conversations during her absence, but given the unprecedented circumstance it had been unclear what the best course of action should be, though Si’eth was confident that he had made the right choice. He never dreamed that his kindness had driven Bulma into a spiral of hopelessness, that he had ostracized her so thoroughly without ever meaning to that she thought she might die of loneliness. He was not a cruel man, but in matters such as these he was not well informed. So Si’eth was forced to watch, and Bulma was forced to suffer, and those who knew better were forced to hold their tongues throughout.

 

* * *

 

_Are you ready to talk?_

Bulma was stepping into the shower, having eaten what she could at dinner and eschewed the recreational facilities, when Ala reached out to her. Exhausted from strain and too tired to put up a fight she acquiesced.

_How are you coping?_

She immersed herself in the hot water, letting it soothe her slightly before answering.

 _Not brilliantly._ She had no interest in elaborating, so instead allowed Ala free access to her recent memories. It was always a disembodying experience, as every memory Ala rifled through was brought to the forefront of her mind with no input from herself, leaving her disoriented to say the least. She steadied herself against the shower wall to avoid slipping on the wet tiles.

_I see. I had hoped for a more sympathetic reception for you. Your old bunkmates of course have reacted understandably, upsetting as it is. I think if you give it time however-_

_Let’s talk about something else for now._ Bulma reached for the soap - an all-purpose concoction that had been wreaking havoc on her hair and skin. She didn’t want relationship advice. _For instance, I’m curious, how did you kill Inapp?_

_Why would you want to know that?_

_Well, off the top of my head, it would be nice to know how_ I _could die if one day you decided it was for the greater good._

The dry sarcasm in Bulma’s thoughts was harsh, even to her, but at this point she didn’t care. What was the point of caring? This situation wasn’t going to get any better, and trying to improve it struck her as a waste of effort.

_That is unfair, Bulma. Inapp tried to compromise a fellow agent, intentionally and maliciously for personal reasons. She was a liability who might have cost the lives of further resistance members if I didn’t stop her, and furthermore she held vital information that couldn’t be risked. What else could I have done?_

_I dunno, put her in time out?_

_Bulma, you are not serious._

_Just tell me how you did it._ Bulma asked calmly, rinsing away the buildup of sweat and lab gunk with relief. _It’s been bugging the hell out of me._

_Fine, if you really must know. I used our mental connection to cause a seizure while she was eating. I then forced her airway to close to cause asphyxiation so that her death would be reported as choking._

Bulma nearly shouted aloud, spluttering as her mouth filled with hot shower water. Whatever else she had to complain about, the water pressure of Vegeta’s shower was not on that list. _How?! Can you do that to me?_

_My connection with you is not as deep as the one I had with Inapp. She trusted me implicitly you see, that is until she became jealous of you. Unfortunately, in spite of my intimate knowledge of her character, I was unable to detect those aspects of herself that she’d managed to hide from me and couldn’t predict these events. At any rate, no I do not believe I could do that to you._

Bulma was unaccountably disgusted. While alarmed at the prospect of Ala being able to cause such destruction at all, the idea that she had unwittingly allowed the woman access to her own mind was doubly horrifying. She thought of every poor agent, held hostage by the constant threat of remote murder by this omniscient force, and it occurred to her how afraid she now was of Ala.

 _Stop it, Bulma!_ This _is why I didn’t want to tell you._ Ala seemed genuinely hurt. _I can’t just kill people like that, if I could do you think that Lord Freeza would still be standing? Every biology is different and in some cases where I have been granted very intimate access it is possible for me to exploit weaknesses in a brain’s programming, but those instances are very rare and even less frequently necessary. I don’t tell my agents about this ability because it is important that they do not fear me. I work for the resistance, to further their goals, so that we may all one day be free. I am not a tyrant, Bulma!_

It took a while for Bulma to realise that Ala, wherever she was on the compound, was crying.

_Do you think it was easy to kill Inapp? I’ve worked with her for years. She has done incredible work. Her skill with network systems was second to none and she has risked her life countless times for the cause. Having to do this broke my heart, Bulma. I love every one of you, and losing someone always hurts me, and moreso when I am forced to be the hand that takes that life. Your skill set became more practically valuable when our plans developed to implementation and so preserving you became a higher priority. And furthermore it was not only my decision, it was the will of the council that she be terminated as she risked our whole operation for a personal vendetta!_

_What council? What agents? Ala why don’t you tell me things!_ Bulma turned off the water and slammed the shower door open in frustration.

 _Because you haven’t earned the_ right _to know things!_ Ala retorted, uncharacteristically passionate. _You are brash, you rush to conclusions and pursued a dangerous liaison to satisfy your own personal needs and curiosities. You hack security systems for no valuable reason, you don’t listen, you’ve sacrificed nothing willingly and yet demand everything. You put yourself in danger and expect others to pick up the pieces, you are selfish and erratic and you are too unpredictable to hold information that could lead to other members of the resistance. In short, as much as I care for you I cannot trust you, and at this point I’m beginning to doubt if I ever can._

Bulma was shocked into silence. She clutched a towel around herself as Ala’s words sunk in. So this was Ala’s opinion of her: pig-headed; untrustworthy; self-centered; weak. Enfeebled by two days’ of acute suffering her self-esteem refused to assert itself and she found herself wondering, what part of that was untrue?

Vegeta had finally, after she had pushed and pushed, put enough trust in her that she was able to satisfy her own urges, and how had that worked out for him? He was a laughing stock. Repeatedly Ala had advised her against actions that had put her in danger and would she listen? No, of course not. Bulma Briefs was never wrong. Bulma Briefs knew what she was doing. Ala had sent more than words to Bulma, she had sent her frustration, her anger, her hurt and her disappointment. It had all crashed over Bulma like a cresting tsunami, lending force and conviction that the words alone would not have invoked. This is what Vegeta had been trying to say to her. This was why he was so angry with her.

Had she ever taken any of this seriously? She realised the resistance had never been about bringing down the empire, or freeing its captives. All she’d ever thought about was using them to get back to Earth to be with her family. And Ala knew that, and still she’d seen value in her and tried to bend her selfish whims to a useful purpose. Bulma knew only shame, deep and painful. All this time she thought Ala heartless, or at least cold, because she didn’t match herself in manners and ideals, when really it had been her own attitude, her own temper between them. Ala had her flaws, and she’d shown that individual lives were secondary to her lofty goals, but she couldn’t call her selfish.

_Ala, Ala I’m sorry. Ala please I never meant to…_

But Ala wasn’t there. Ala had walled her off and Bulma now felt more alone than ever. Stunned, she stumbled out of the bathroom toward her tiny little allotment. She didn’t want to cry, feeling such self indulgence would only justify every criticism just levelled against her, but in the absence of anything more constructive she once again gave in to her tears, only this time they were tears of self-reproach. Self-pity had never hurt as much as genuine remorse.

She cried quietly this time, without wailing sobs or dramatics. She tried to exercise discipline, self-control, and was slowly calming herself down with each shaky breath. On this she was so focused that she almost didn’t hear the main door slide open, but she couldn’t ignore the sounds of a person moving around the room. She recognized Vegeta’s light but sure step, and the measured way he stopped to survey the room before continuing. She held her breath, expecting him to head straight for his own room. It was late enough in the evening that he could conceivably be heading for bed.

But he didn’t, in fact to her utter amazement he walked towards her little apartment and stood outside the makeshift entryway. She could see his silhouette against the screen divider and realised that he was trying to decide whether or not enter. For her own part she prayed he would choose not to, but his gloved hand then appeared around the curtain to move it aside.

“Woman?” She dropped her hands to her lap but turned her face away in the hopes he wouldn’t notice the state she was in. She didn’t know what she wanted right now, but she knew it wouldn’t come from him. She also hated that he had reverted to calling her ‘woman’.

“You’ve been crying again.” He stated flatly. “It’s been over two days.”

She didn’t answer, but could only imagine what she looked like to him.

“Are you sick?” He asked, and when she remained silent added, “Do you require medical assistance?”

“I don’t need anything, just leave me alone!” She begged through gritted teeth, desperately trying not to burst into more tears in front of him. She regretted her sharp tone immediately as he jerked upright, his mouth set into a grim frown. He held the curtain open only a moment longer before turning away resolutely and letting it fall without taking his leave of her.

 

*   *   *

 

Her suffering to this extent had never been his intention, he just wanted her to have _sense_. Why couldn’t she see that? His traitor brain asked him if he’d ever tried to explain that to her but he argued back that he shouldn’t have to, that a woman of her calibre should know better than to behave how she had.

But then didn’t that mean that he, too, ought to have known better?

She had been correct in her counter-accusations of him. He had been as complicit in these proceedings as she, and he had known as well as she did what the security on the compound consisted of. His immediate thought was that she had been indiscreet, but then even if she had been who had access to those cameras? No, he decided, it had to have been from some other source. So if it weren’t specifically her fault that they were caught then it stood to reason he had to be at least as guilty as her. Because she was right: he had chosen to take notice of her, he had chosen to to move her to his medical team and damn it all to hell he had chosen to come to her that night. He was guilty of as much indiscretion as she was, but the material consequences for him were, he was forced to admit, far less egregious.

He stalked his bedroom floor angrily, incensed by his own treacherous thoughts. Infuriated, he resolved on having an early night. He showered and saw to his bodily maintenance in his usual manner, arguing with himself constantly, before lying down to sleep.

That is to say, he wanted to sleep. In actuality he lay in a dark room, frequently changing positions, trying to silence his fevered brain. At every attempt to detach himself from this woman he was thwarted. He argued with cold logic, he was rebuffed with passion; he gave way to his anger, his own logic turned on him. The fact of the matter was that the sight of her crying bothered him, but every time he tried to find an acceptable reason for this he came up against a terrifying truth that he didn’t want to face. The reason for all of this, the reason she wasn’t dead right now - or worse - and the reason he had been avoiding his own damned apartment for two days.

He cared about her.

It wasn’t an entirely new revelation, he’d already admitted to himself that he found her company amusing, and even had gone so far as to accept that he liked her, but this was a huge step beyond anything he’d ever known as an adult. That woman, who he assumed was sleeping on just the other side of the thin wall of his apartment, had affected him irreparably, to the point where in spite of two nights’ very poor sleep he was still lying awake in his remarkably comfortable bed thinking about her.

How had he let this happen? He was Vegeta, Prince of all Saiyans, an accomplished captain and proven warrior, driven only by strength and victory and devoid of weaknesses. How had he gone from that to being so easily manipulated by a simple woman? She wasn’t even a fighter! There were times of old when he’d wondered if he might ever be tempted by a woman and had concluded that only a fighter of the highest calibre would be able to turn his head, but she was just a lowly researcher, one of dozens on the planet. Further fuelling his anger was the pointlessness of asking himself what made her special, he _knew_ what made her special and it was pathetic. Her charisma, charm and other attractive attributes were not unique, what made her special was that she had sought him, and in that act made herself an object of endless curiosity. Of course he admired all those qualities that made her who she was, and how intensely she threw herself into life, but he could have admired those things without feeling a keen interest in her well-being. What made the real difference was the way she seemed to want more from him than that, and how she forced him to accept being cared for. It seemed, simply put, that he liked her because she liked him. Worse than that, he didn’t know what to do about it. He didn’t know how to switch that off, and parts of him rebelled against even wanting to.

He realised what had made the last two days so irksome to him. It hadn’t hit him up to now, because it had come on so gradually, that the option to visit Bulma either officially or otherwise had become something he’d relied on as always a possibility, and he missed it. He missed her socially. Logically it made sense, Saiyans were technically social animals, fighting, living and travelling in groups, but he’d always thought himself above that. Now he actually had something to contrast to his previous daily routine and the removal of his one purely social interest had left him with feelings reminiscent to those he suffered after he was ordered to terminate Nappa and Radditz. He was alone, and the options he’d had before - that he’d rarely taken advantage of - were gone.

Was this loneliness?

He was jerked suddenly from this train of thought by an uneven rapping at his bedroom door. He sat up sharply, checking his scouter for the time. Despite his perception he must have drifted off at some point during his musings because it was far later than he’d realised, early morning in fact. His scouter also confirmed that there were no other lifeforms in his apartment beyond him and Bulma, which made the identity of the knocker a fairly safe guess. What could she want at this hour?

She knocked again, a little fainter this time and he pulled himself out of bed, wishing he’d invested in more than just loose fitting pyjama bottoms. He was ashamed of how his hands shook as he grasped the door handle. Taking a steadying breath, he composed himself and slowly slid open the door by a few inches.

She stood in her plain grey pyjamas with her head bowed and her hands clasped in front her. If he didn’t know her better he’d think she looked subservient, but he could see the tension in her rigid frame and in the way she twisted her fingers. She was nervous too.

“What is it?” He asked, trying to sound unconcerned. She flinched.

“I just ...wanted to talk.”

“At this hour?” He pushed the door all the way open to look at her incredulously. “Do you know what time it is?”

She nodded, glancing at the ever-glowing console against the wall.

“What do you need to tell me?”

She didn’t reply straight away, just lifted her red rimmed eyes to his. He felt his stomach lurch at the reminder of her distress.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered. “For everything. For Zarbon and Freeza, the lab, the scouter, for getting you into this, all of it. I should never have-”

Here she stopped, choking on a sob as she raised her hands to cover her face.

“No one will talk to me anymore.” She gasped before being interrupted by another sob. “People avoid me, or they point and laugh at me. People don’t want me around them because they’re scared I’ll drag them down too. I didn’t listen, I didn’t listen and now I’m all alone. And you and I were-” she was cut off briefly by a hiccup, “You were coming round to me, and it was getting good and then ...oh Kami, Vegeta I’ve ruined everything. It’s all my fault.”

“Woman, this is unnecessary.” He said weakly, not able to hide his uneasiness. This wasn’t what he wanted.

“See?” She said, barking a bitter little laugh, “You won’t even use my name anymore.”

He wanted to say a hundred things to her, but didn’t know how to. He’d never had to employ the phrase ‘I’m sorry’ or ‘I was wrong’ and they didn’t come naturally to him now. Instead he looked away and made no reply, just hoping she would do something he could understand.

“I’ve just been so lonely.”

He looked at her suddenly, almost sharply. She was rubbing her face with her hands, looking desperately unhappy. How had it never occurred to him that she might be feeling the same things he was? She was lonely, perhaps as lonely as him, only now he was realising that in actual fact he had been lonely for far, far longer than she could imagine. He made a decision.

The only noise she made was a soft exclamation of surprise as he stepped forward to close the small distance between them. He cupped her face in both of his hands and kissed her fully on the mouth.

“Bulma.” He whispered against her lips. For that moment at least, he felt like they were the only two people alive in the universe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly shorter chapters coming at the moment, partly because you guys are awesome and I wanna keep you updated but also because right now they feel like the better pacing option for what's happening. Let me know in the comments if this is a yay or nay for you guys, if you'd prefer longer chapters less frequently or vice versa.


	17. Accord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once again I'd like to give a big shout out to Saiyanhajime (tumblr) for his support and advice. Without him this would have withered on the vine.

 

_ His dress armour was uncomfortable and he didn’t like how the stiff pauldrons restricted his arms. His attendants pointed out that he shouldn’t be waving his arms about at a formal lunch anyway, but he maintained that he should at least have that option. _

_ He’d been ushered into the banqueting hall as the guests were filing in. Vegeta recognised some high ranking members of the Saiyan royal household, his father’s other consorts and some of his half-siblings among them, but there were also unfamiliar faces. They also wore a version of the armour he was familiar with. He was given to understand that the style of armour had been adopted as part of the treaty with the Cold Empire. He didn’t care about that sort of detail though, he was searching all the female faces, looking for the one he knew by instinct. _

_ It took him some time, between his height and the crowd, but eventually he spotted her, a hand resting on her distended belly. His mother was short by Saiyan standards, but she had the air of a much taller woman. Her hair had been dressed - by one of the foreign maids he guessed - and unlike the coarse Saiyan hair he was used to seeing it was sleek and intricately pinned up. A cascade of curls fell over one of her bared shoulders. She wore a modified form of the royal armour that merged seamlessly into a very fine gown. Vegeta wondered why she bothered with the armour part at all, as it served no function the way she was wearing it. It didn’t really matter though. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He slipped his handler and made a beeline for her through the crowded bodies. _

 

*   *   *

 

It was over mortifyingly quickly. The confidence he’d felt a few minutes ago was gone, replaced by warring feelings of calm satisfaction and shameful inadequacy. 

“How are you feeling?” She asked gently, her lips very close to his ear. They were lying in his bed, the sheets a tangled mess at their feet, her naked body pressed against the side of his. He wanted to ask her the same question, but was too fearful of the answer.

Her arm was draped over him, and he idly stroked the soft skin of her wrist. He wanted so badly to ask her if he’d done it right, but whether good or bad any response he could imagine left him cringing with embarrassment.

It could only have been half an hour before that she’d been stood in his open doorway, her name hovering between them as his lips broke from hers. They’d stood like that for nearly a full minute, his bare hands still gently holding her face, foreheads touching in the dim light of the apartment. She’d made the next move, raising her chin to meet his open mouth, and he’d gladly received her. He caressed her neck with one hand while the other dropped to her waist, gently winding around her protectively, and she tangled her fingers into his hair, pushing his mouth harder against hers. Their kisses were less experimental now, and more urgent.

He’d stepped back, and was ecstatic when she immediately followed him in, never breaking their kiss. He’d closed the door and she’d rested on it, pulling him towards her so that his body was pressing her against the wall. There was no plan, no intent, he was just lost in the experience of her mouth, neck, hands, and even as he became almost uncomfortably erect he was too focused on kissing her for much of anything else.

“Not your fault.” He’d gasped between kisses. “None of this - not you.”

He was understood despite his lack of eloquence, and Bulma had let out a small moan, almost a whine, that sounded like satisfied relief. She pressed her middle against his, seemingly without conscious thought.

At some point they had made their way from the door to the bed, though it was unclear in his memory who had instigated that, and clothes had been discarded along the way. They were completely naked to each other for the first time, entwined around one-another, equally in need. It was she who had eventually broken their kiss, their undisciplined wrestling having left her on top. She raised herself up on her elbows and looked him directly in the eye. Hers were still a little pink from crying.

“Are you ready for this?” She’d asked him seriously.

He’d held her gaze steadily, thinking of all the ways he knew this could go wrong, remembering his own unfortunate experiences, feeling the dread begin to bubble to the surface. Then he’d felt her hand running down the front of his abdomen to lightly stroke his erection, and pushed himself up to kiss her in affirmation. She’d smiled against his mouth.

The next part had been a bit of a blur. She’d spread her legs either side of him and angled herself so that the tip of his cock was just touching the hot middle of her, then she’d shifted her weight forwards and his mind went completely blank. He was definitely kissing her, and definitely moving, that much he remembered, but it was clear she’d done most of the work. He’d also made some embarrassing noises that he’d prefer not to remember, but then so had she.

Theoretically he’d thought experiencing what she could do with her hands and mouth should have prepared him for this, but nothing compared to the deep, wet warmth he was now lost in. Nothing compared, not eating, not fighting, and certainly not what they’d done in Si’eth’s lab, glorious as that had been.

But it seemed to be over very quickly.

She didn’t say anything when he came, just stopped, kissed his forehead and quietly clambered off of him. She maneuvered herself so that he had an arm around her. And now here she was, after knocking on his door in the early hours of the morning to cry her heart out, she was lying in his arms, asking him how he felt.

“Fine, I think.” He lied.

She smiled. “You don’t seem very happy.”

“I’m just thinking.” He growled.

“You think too much.”

“And you don’t think enough.” He retorted, but his heart wasn’t in it. She could tell.

“If you say so.” She smiled, sleepily. “Anyway, you’re not thinking, you’re worrying. I know the difference.”

He didn’t respond to that.

“Probably about nothing. You were fine.”

And there it was. The answer to the question he didn’t want to ask, because now he was going to agonise over it, specifically about whether she meant it or whether she was just trying to be kind. He turned his head away.

“What’s the matter?” She asked soothingly. He muttered something in which she was able to discern the words ‘last’ and ‘long’.

“You’re not meant to the first time.” She laughed, “Didn’t anyone ever tell you anything about sex?”

“No.” He answered, then remembering the ribald ‘conversation’ of his fellow soldiers added, “Nothing useful anyway.”

They were silent for a while. He hooked the covers with his foot and started to drag them over the two of them. He didn’t want to look at himself.

“I’m your first, right?” She asked him quietly, stroking his chest.

“No.” He thought about it. “Not technically.”

“Oh?”

“I was very young, too young. I hated it, but apparently,” his face darkened, “it still ‘counts’.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” She sounded genuine and he cursed himself for letting her draw him out like this, but she was so comfortably warm against him, and even with the cooling wetness that had pooled around their middles he was so physically contented that he could barely muster the energy to berate himself.

“What about you?” He asked, curiosity getting the better of him. “Have you done this with many others?”

“Just a couple.” She pressed her face into his shoulder. “Once when I was at school, but it wasn’t very good. And the other with my …”

She trailed off, and he considered letting the matter drop, but now he was intrigued. Oddly he wasn’t jealous. From the way the other soldiers had spoken about their favourite whores or mistresses he’d imagined jealousy was the done thing, but he felt only curiosity.

“With your what?”

“My fiance.” She answered reluctantly.

“What’s a fiance?” He asked.

“It’s what you call someone you’re going to marry.” Her voice was a whisper now. “Although, now I think about it, I don’t know if we were ever going to get around to that part. We fought a lot.”

There was another silence.

“Do you miss him?”

“Yes, of course.” She sighed, but then seemed to rally. “But I’m never going to see him again, am I? And we weren’t on the best of terms when you- when I left Earth.”

He shifted slightly, uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had taken. There was one advantage to that however, as his desire to change this subject made it suddenly a lot easier to address the one that had been preying on his mind all evening.

“The things I said to you that night,” he said quietly, looking away so he didn’t have to see her face, “I was angry. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

“No.” Bulma replied firmly. “I mean, yes, you were angry, but no, you can’t take it back. Besides, you were right about a lot of things. But I have to admit, I don’t regret what I did, even if it has been …well.”

“Has it been that terrible for you, these last two days?” He asked, trying not to sound too concerned but again, only making a token effort.

She sighed. “I don’t expect you to understand. You don’t really connect with anyone, so I don’t know how to explain to you what it’s like to be suddenly cut off from people. The looks I get from people, the way people I used to hang out with avoid me now, it just reminds me that this is not my home and no one here is my friend. Except, maybe ...you?”

He paused for a long time, and Bulma thought she’d offended him, but eventually he replied, “If you wish. I don’t know what that means to you so take that for what it’s worth.”

They were silent again but for the rustling of the bedclothes as she stretched a leg over his. He’d missed just talking to her, and now, in the afterglow of their lovemaking he was enjoying this careless exchange. He felt her hand creep up to his shoulder. That was pleasant too.

“What happens now?” She whispered.

“I’m going to protect you.” He replied firmly. “You’ll perform your research, I will follow my orders and we’ll both survive.”

“And if things change?”

“We’ll change too.”

“That seems uncharacteristically optimistic of you.” Bulma smiled wryly.

“It’s not optimism, it’s fact.” He retorted calmly. “The universe is in a constant state of change and flux. If you want to live in it you have to accept that, and to adapt accordingly.”

“What if the change is unacceptable?” She asked doggedly. “What if surviving means giving up too much?”

“What do we have left to give up?”

She didn’t answer.

“You’ve stopped crying.” He said eventually.

“Have I? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Your mouth will get you in trouble one day.”

“It already has, or didn’t you notice?” He turned to look at at her, and his stomach somersaulted at her warm, playful smile. “But it gets me out of trouble too.”

She kissed him, not the hot, urgent kisses from before but sweetly. He’d never been kissed sweetly before, even when Bulma had been first testing the waters with him those kisses he wouldn’t have described as ‘sweet’, merely gentle. There was no other descriptor however for this warm, feathery press of her lips against his. He returned it, sliding his hand up her arm. Her little hand pulled at his shoulder, drawing him into the embrace that he had only half-committed to before, so that they were lying face to face. Her sweet kisses grew to something more sensual and he gave in to her, letting her absorb him. He ran his hand down her back, enjoying her soft skin and once again finding her backside. He liked that part of her especially. In a brief flush of confidence he lowered his hand further and lifted her leg up over his.

They were both in great need of showering, but Vegeta didn’t care for once. If anything the smell of their sweat mingling seemed to be doing something extraordinary to him, and the light kisses they’d started with became hungrier. Slowly, ever so slowly, Bulma began to move her hips against his, and he groaned appreciatively. It hadn’t taken much, and as the blood rushed to his groin Bulma smiled at him impishly.

“Are you ready to go again?”

He growled in response and recaptured her lips. She pressed herself harder against him. His desire for her was mounting, but this time it was not accompanied by the desperate need that had consumed him at the doorway. Every second he’d held her the first time around he’d kept half expecting her to disappear, to fall through his hands like grains of sands. This time he was grounded, and she gave every encouragement he could want.

“Let’s try it this way.” She said, separating their middles slightly. She rolled away but pulled on his shoulder to make him follow until he was hovering above her, poised between her legs with his weight on his forearms. “I think me on top was a little too much, this will be better.”

Even when putting herself in what Vegeta understood to be a traditionally submissive position she was still so assertive. He was oddly proud of her.

“Ok now, gently…”

He hardly needed the instruction; his first thought when she’d hauled him on top of her had been a terror of harming her. But she reached down her hand, angling herself perfectly, guiding him, and while always allowing him the agency of finally doing this himself she gave him the confidence he needed to press the head of his erection against her still-wet opening, and slowly slip inside of her.

So slowly.

He savoured every moment, the glorious sight that was this woman raising her hips to receive him, with her arched back and head, exposing her pale neck as she closed her eyes in apparent pleasure. Her thighs tightened around his sides as he painstakingly pressed forward until he was completely inside her, up to the very hilt. The sensation was indescribable, and as good as it had been the first time he realised now it was even better when he took the time to appreciate every nuance.

He didn’t immediately pull away, instead he leaned down to mouth at her her neck, going so far as to bite her ear gently when she turned her head to accommodate his mouth. As slowly as he entered, he began to pull out, before just as tenderly pushing back in. His slow pace derived partly from anxiety for her safety but was also spurred by her evident enjoyment of it. She gave a tiny whimper and wrapped her legs around his back, forcing him further inside of her.

“Are you alright?” He whispered into the ear his teeth had just been teasing. It wasn’t the question he wanted to ask, but the words ‘am I doing this right’ died before reaching his tongue. She nodded, understanding perfectly.

“You can go a little faster if you want to.” She said, her voice husky now. “This way you control the pace, and if you feel like you’re going to finish sooner than you want to, you can slow down.”

Experimentally he pulled back and thrust gently into her. It felt incredible, but not as incredible as the way she moaned and pushed back against him. He did it again, and this time he continued, beginning with an uneven tempo that became a steady rhythm. She was vocal in her enjoyment, and physical in pursuing her own pleasure. While ostensibly in control, he was guided by the hints she gave with her hips and legs as to speed and depth, though he could and did pull back as frequently as he needed to. He was determined this time around not to lose control of himself.

Throughout this they were kissing, touching and exploring each other. Vegeta discovered that the hollow behind her ear was very sensitive and was exploiting it, while Bulma was keen to ascertain if the application of her nails on his bare back would have the same effect she was used to in humans. It did. He growled and thrust harder, which elicited a delighted gasp from her.

The pace was increasing, and he realised that at some point he’d gone from being braced stiffly above her so as not to crush her to being fully pressed against her, with one arm supporting his weight. The other hand explored at will, fondling her breasts, stroking her cheek, he was hardly even having to put thought into it. Her legs were still locked around his middle and she consistently thrust her hips upwards to meet his, which was making his ultimate goal - extending this experience - more and more difficult. He could feel his orgasm building on the horizon and was fighting to keep it at bay.

“V-Vegeta.” she whimpered pathetically. This, he decided as his body responded instinctively to her unvoiced pleas, was not playing fair. He gave in to both her and his own desires and pressed his face into her neck as their lovemaking reached a crescendo, no longer holding back to drag out the proceedings. He felt with an odd mix of excitement and disappointment the surging sensation in his abdomen that signalled the end was near.

He gripped the covers, paranoid that if he held her he would crush her. He was overwhelmed again, helpless, gasping for breath as his head broke the surface of the wave he was riding. The wave peaked, and he felt himself coming down, falling down, and at the end of it all the one constant remained; Bulma was still there, caressing him, holding him closely against her as his shameful moan petered out.

She gave him a minute to catch his breath. He was lying on top of her, his weight still partially offset to his arm, and she was quietly massaging his neck as his breathing returned to normal. He was still inside her, and beginning to soften.

“That was fantastic Vegeta.” She murmured, smiling.

“You didn’t have the same ...thing.” He replied flatly.

“No, not yet.” She smiled as he raised his head to look at her questioningly. “Remember what you did for me back in the lab?”

He did, extremely well. The feel of her riding his hand as she orgasmed was something he planned to never forget. He raised himself up a little further, slipping out of her wetly as he did so. The angle had changed but, he theorised, the mechanics ought to remain the same. He ran his fingers down her stomach and over her pubic bone, twisting his wrist so that he was touching her the same way as he had done then.

She closed her eyes.

There was no need to borrow wetness from her now, as his own was everywhere. She was beyond wet, and she was swollen and hot. He found the little fleshy lump much more easily this time, thanks to its blood-engorged state, and proceeded to massage it. Like before he was fascinated by her. This time he chose to just watch, now understanding why her hips moved in that way, pushing against his hand as if it were the whole of him. She had the bedsheet clutched in her fist, and her breathing became fast and shallow. Her head arched backwards again and she seemed lost in her own perfect pleasure. Experimentally he tightened the circles he was making on her clitoris, pressing harder and faster to see how she’d respond. She gasped, and her whole body convulsed. He slowed back down, again curious as to her reaction, but this time she mewled pitifully. He tried this experiment a few more times, increasing the speed and pressure then backing off and letting her recover before building up again. The trust she was putting in him to let him do this to her astonished him. After a few more minutes however she put a hand on his wrist to stop him.

“You bastard,” she gasped, almost laughing, “you know exactly what you’re doing, don’t you?”

He smirked a little, and didn’t deny it. He had only seen her come once and while he wanted to see it again he was purposefully withholding her orgasm. He wanted her to enjoy this for as long as possible, and besides, there was something about exercising this benevolent control over her that was making him lengthen again.

“I want something else.” She declared bluntly, her voice still shaky. “Do you want to do something new for me?”

He shrugged, trying to hide his eager curiosity.

“Use your mouth.”

He stared at her uncomprehendingly.

“Like your fingers.” She ran a thumb over his well-formed lips. “Use your mouth and tongue like you used your fingers, in the same place.”

He stopped, assessing the situation. As he’d played with her clitoris he’d moved to the side to better enjoy the sight of her, and began to compute what she was asking for. Without speaking a word he parted from her briefly to perch himself between her legs, then eased himself down the bed until his mouth was level with her centre. She had done this for him, he reasoned, so it stood to reason he should learn how to do it for her.

The smell was intoxicating.

He kissed her there, not sure how else to start, and in doing so sucked very lightly on her clitoris with immediate effect. She groaned and bucked, in response to which he raised his arms to steady her thighs, holding the soft flesh in place. As he kissed and sucked he slowly introduced his tongue - on her advice as she didn’t hesitate to direct and instruct him - though hesitantly at first from a juvenile preconception about taste, one that was swiftly displaced. The taste of her was heat and flesh, like her mouth but subtly different. Far from being repulsed, he found he rather liked it. The more he applied his tongue the more she seemed to enjoy it. Keeping her pelvis still was becoming an issue, so he scooped her legs over his shoulders and held them in place.

“Oh Kami...” She moaned long and quiet. He would have to ask her what a Kami was at some point. Her bucking was growing frequent and regular. “P-please, Vegeta, more.”

He looked up through the curly blue hair that adorned her pubis with questioning eyes. More what?

“Faster,” she supplied, “harder!”

He obliged.

“O-oh!” She gasped much louder now. “Like that! Yes, please, I’m - I-”

Her whole body from her shoulders down lifted up from the bed, and he supported her buttocks with his strong hands as she bucked and writhed through her own orgasm. He continued to kiss and lick her, slower this time, until she stopped him. Relaxing back down on to the bed she put a shaking hand to his forehead and pushed him away. His chin was slick with their combined fluid.

“Fuck.” She sighed in satisfaction.

“Quite.”

She looked down at him and chuckled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. Unaccustomed to such expressions of mirth himself, he surprised himself by reciprocating. It was only the faintest of amused snorts but he felt unaccountably lighter afterwards. He wiped his face self consciously and laid his body back down beside her.

“You know, Vegeta,” she said, smiling coyly, “when I asked you what happens now, I was thinking more about where I should sleep.”

He glanced at her, but then looked away uncomfortably.

“I can go back into the other room.”

“You ...can sleep where you want to.” He replied after crushing his embarrassment.

“And if I want to sleep here?”

“Whatever pleases you.” He tried to sound nonchalant but he was fooling nobody and he knew it. Instead of replying she just rolled into his chest and did a sort of wiggle, then by some magic he didn’t understand she had one of his arms wrapped around her. She pushed her face into the crook of his neck. He gave himself leave to touch his lips to the top of her head, not quite a kiss, but something as intimate he thought.

She smelled amazing.

The hand she had commandeered for this impromptu embrace began to snake down her back and over her buttocks. He stopped there and gave an experimental squeeze.

“Bulma.” He muttered into her hair. He spread his hand wide and explored further down her thigh, lifting it up over his so that he could reach more of her leg. He said her name again.

She lifted her face and kissed him.

 

*   *   *

 

Vegeta awoke first. Completely spent after their third coupling, they’d fallen asleep in a disorganised tangle. His first thought upon blearily opening his eye was how he’d managed to sleep in the first place. Even disregarding the woman sprawled across him he was sweaty, sticky and his sheets were in total disarray. The musky smells of their lovemaking, though in themselves not unpleasant, were stale now and he was no longer indifferent about his need to shower.

He checked the time and grimaced. It was approaching the hour they’d need to be getting up and ready for the day’s labours, and they’d had only a few hours of sleep apiece, besides which after two days of what Vegeta suspected was more severe distress than she’d let on Bulma would have a hard time of it today. He was also perfectly aware that she’d been sent out of the lab on convalescence the day before Freeza’s summoning and had concerns for her health.

Rolling away from her and sitting up, he reached for his data tablet. The decision was made.

“Mmm…” She murmured from beside him. He looked over his shoulder to observe her waking up in the dim light. Gummy eyed and very dishevelled, smiling at him sleepily, he thought she was radiant.

“Whatcha doin’?” She said, half to him and half into the pillow.

“Reassigning you.” He replied, returning to his tablet. “Temporarily anyway.”

“Hmm?” She rolled lazily onto her back. “Where to?”

“Nowhere in particular, ‘domestic duties’ will be explanation enough.”

“You wan’ me to clean?”

“No, I want you to rest.” He entered his authorisation codes and placed the tablet back on his side table. “You’re not going to the lab today, not in your condition.”

“Condition?”

“Weren’t you on ConAl earlier this week? I’m not convinced you’re recovered.”

“I was overtired and stressed out, not sick, but I won’t say no to a free day off.”

He stood up and paced towards the washroom door.

“What’re you gonna do?”

“Before anything else, shower.”

“Hmm yeah,” she rolled the other way and pressed her face into the pillows again, “we stink pretty bad right now.”

It was dark and he was facing away, so he hoped she couldn’t see him smirk.

“Sure ‘bout this? You know what people’ll think.”

“What’s the difference? They’ll think it anyway.”

“That they will.” She sighed, and he could hear her slipping off into sleep again. Good, he thought, for as contented as she’d seemed since he’d let her into his room he didn’t quite believe that she was back to herself again. Not that he had any real way to gauge that of course.

He stepped into the shower. No, he had to admit to himself that, as much as he’d missed her company he still couldn’t claim to know her. He hadn’t even known she’d had a mate back on Earth, it had never occurred to him to ask.

How much did she miss him, he wondered? By what principles did bonding exist on her planet? Even simple questions like that reminded him just how little he knew about her life before he’d abducted her, and thinking about it made him uncomfortable. Sometimes the fact that they were prisoners escaped him, and he knew to ask her these questions meant reminding themselves how they’d both come to be here.

Relationships in general were a mystery to him; Vegeta had never even seen his parents together. He’d never had friends, at best he’d had subjects or underlings, sometimes respected but always inferior. His observations on the matter were lacking too, for those soldiers that could boast a home and family didn’t have them on Planet Cold. HQ1 sustained a constant flow of personnel coming and going as those that performed well earned leave to visit loved ones or were funnelled into other posts.

The longer he was away from her comforting touch the more anxious he became about the situation, foremostly what it was she now expected of him. Was there something he was meant to do now, or say? He wasn’t even sure what she was to him anymore. She’d used the word ‘friend’, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that when she said that word she was thinking of a different one. And was he going to let her share his carefully guarded living space? Despite all his previous strictures he was cringingly quick to allow her access to his room, and almost as a way to determine his feelings on the matter he considered reaffirming those rules and sending her back out to her own bed. The reluctance he felt to carry through with that plan told him all he needed to know. Somehow, through some unfathomable series of events, he was now sharing his bed with this Earthling for the foreseeable future.

And what about her public conduct? Obviously he couldn’t allow rumours to abound that he had such a glaring, exploitable vulnerability - he could barely accept it himself - but they had been caught out before thanks to their own indiscretion and there was no telling what might happen. He still didn’t know who had sent that footage in the first place, and he didn’t have the clearance to access Zarbon’s comms. It could be possible to examine the security archives history and trace when it was accessed - and more importantly by whom - but that was still above his clearance and also outside of his skillset.

But was it outside of Bulma’s? Come to think of it, she’d already hacked the archives at least once to nose around in his private medical history. What else could she do?

He rinsed off the last of the grime and stepped out of the shower, reaching for a drying cloth. He dried himself thoroughly and wrapped the towel around his middle before glancing around the doorframe to check on her.

She’d moved, but only to spreadeagle and encompass more of the bed. He found himself just stood, watching her sleep. Her proximity alleviated some of his anxiety and he decided that whatever happened, he would work it out, somehow. He had to, because for the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt like his life still belonged to him, and he was prepared to fight for it.


	18. Comfort

_ King Vegeta’s prime consort was distracted, staring nervously into the crowds, and it took a rough tug of her skirts to get her attention. She looked down in surprise which only increased when she looked over her pregnant belly and saw her son’s determined little face staring up at her. She couldn’t stop herself smiling, not immediately, and her hand autonomously reached to tousle his hair. It was soft; the maids had done the Gods’ work to tame that coarse mess. _

_ “What are you doing, little prince? Where are your servants?” She asked in a whisper, trying not to draw attention to the wayward child. “You should be at the table by now.” _

_ “Why should I have’ta do wha’ they say? I’m the prince.” He asserted confidently. “Wan’ t’see you.” _

_ She grimaced. She had been warned about this when she’d insisted on carrying him to term, and later when she’d nursed and weaned him. The nurses and warriors claimed he would bond to her and it would make him soft, and yet his power had been incredible from infancy. She’d ignored them all and King Vegeta’s preference for her meant she’d gotten away with far more than any of his other consorts, but now, in such a public sphere as this, she felt the tiniest bit of regret that she hadn’t been stricter with him. _

_ She looked over to where his siblings were congregating, where he should already be. His handlers were there, clearly trying to find him and she rolled her eyes in disgust at their incompetence. The only children older than him were his handful of half-sisters, well-bred obedient girls destined for high-ranking military posts but not the male heirs that the king had insisted on to sustain their race under the yoke of Freeza’s male dominated empire. Prince Vegeta had been the first male. He had a couple of younger half-brother’s old enough to attend the festivities as well as a few more sisters; her ‘mate’ was never idle when it came to producing progeny. Some of the other consorts had begun to eschew gestation tanks in the hopes of producing a child as strong as her own little Prince, as if that might have something to do with it, and stood around near the children in various states of pregnancy. She absently rubbed her own belly, feeling Tarble turning inside of her. _

_ “My lady,” a voice murmured at her shoulder, “I think this would be best left to me.” _

_ She looked into the grizzled face of her royal guard. The woman was not attractive, but there was no face she preferred to see, with the possible exception of her son’s. King Vegeta himself held her in such high regard for her victories on the battlefield that he’d appointed her to protect his favourite consort personally, and she had performed for her lady the most difficult of tasks, including but not limited to overseeing Vegeta’s nursery-care. _

_ “It’s been so long,” she pleaded weakly, “can’t he stay a moment longer?” _

_ She shook her head grimly. “I know you have enjoyed much time among other cultures, but you must respect the ways of your own people.” _

_ She sighed, defeated. Her family were merchants, not warriors, and she hadn’t been raised to a Saiyan court like the other consorts. She’d tried to introduce aspects of the cultures that she’d absorbed on her travels, and it was only by producing the strongest offspring that she’d managed to avoid being exiled for it. She knew this old warrior had been appointed her guardian for more than just physical protection; she was above all her advisor. It was not their way for a royal child to be mothered into their fighting years, especially not a crown prince. A Saiyan King or Queen lived for their people, they must never be swayed by love for another, be that person a parent or a mate. That is why, despite what he whispered into her ear when they were alone together in the dark heat of her bedroom, her King kept and used so many other consorts. It had been a mistake to try to keep this little piece of King Vegeta for herself; he didn’t belong to her, he belonged to his people. _

_ “If it must be so.” _

_ With one exceptionally sure and strong hand the guard reached for little Vegeta and smoothly extracted him from his mother’s skirts. She didn’t make eye contact with him as he was dragged away, but stared fixedly off into the distance, stroking her belly.  _

 

* * *

 

 

Bulma felt calm, and warm. She knew this was temporary and that she’d eventually have to wake up and face the mess she was in, but for now she was in a warm bed that smelled of sex and the sweaty musk of her lover and had little intention of leaving it.

She was vaguely aware of him moving around the room, picking things up and getting dressed, and she thought at times stopping to look at her, though it was hard to tell with how often she dropped in and out of sleep. When she finally came to full consciousness she was alone and her clothes were inexpertly folded in a pile next to the bed. A clean towel was hung over the edge of the bed. Taking the hint she grabbed it and fumbled her way sleepily into the bathroom.

She hadn’t thought to check the time, but all things considered that was the least of her worries. A quick glance out of the bathroom’s living room exit ascertained both the time of day and that Vegeta was not in the apartment. His absence was a little jarring, but given the time displayed on the console she supposed he had gone out for breakfast. She thought about doing the same but even if she’d set off that moment she knew she’d miss the last serving. A deep yawn escaped her, and she decided that this morning she’d been in greater need of sleep than food anyway and retreated back into the bathroom.

There was no need to rush her morning routine for once, being able to enjoy a long, leisurely shower uninterrupted, as well as everything else one might find a washroom useful for. Unfortunately this meant she had very little to distract her from the inevitable cascade of difficult questions her brain had been lining up for her all night.

Chief among them was what in hell’s name she was supposed to do now. Beyond getting clean and dressed she hadn’t a clue. There was no trace of Ala on her mental radar, which meant she was still cut off from her, and Vegeta had left no instruction beyond his vague assertion that she should be resting. She knew she wasn’t to go to her lab, but what exactly could she do from here? The more she thought about it the more annoyed she became that he’d left without telling her in the first place, though thankfully too distracted by every other problem to let the irritation escalate. Both in the short and long term she felt like she was lost at sea.

As for the immediate present, what had actually happened here? Something had changed between her and Vegeta last night, that much was clear, but she couldn’t be certain of what. Last night had been simple, last night she had been distressed and he was her lover. In the early morning he’d been a friend as well, but now in his absence she was forced to remember how they’d gotten here in the first place, and his contributions to that distress.

Still, she was at least relieved that she didn’t have to face her labmates that day, and immediately felt ashamed of that relief. It may not have been her decision to delay dealing with the outside world, and the secret gratitude she felt at having that agency removed just brought to mind every criticism Ala had levelled against her. Dressed and clean, she seated herself on the couch and waited.

She had to do something. She had to find a way to get back to Ala. She didn’t want to just go on surviving here, waiting until either her health or her usefulness ran out, she wanted her life back and she was going to fight for it. Until then she had a decision to make regarding the Saiyan and it wasn’t going to be easy.

The main door clicked and slid open, and the room’s owner entered carrying the now familiar plastic boxes. Vegeta saw her sitting, and her irritation with him melted away as he self-consciously shut the door and placed the food offering before her.

“I got breakfast - or lunch, I suppose. Um…”

“On Earth we call it brunch, breakfast and lunch.” She suggested.

“Brunch then.” He turned away and Bulma sighed inwardly at his continued embarrassment at even these simple interactions. She had hoped that events up to now would have relieved some of that, but she reminded herself that this was all still probably new to him. She highly doubted he’d ever cohabited with anyone, let alone a woman.

“Thanks for the food. I was starting to think I’d slept away my chance to eat this morning.” She said, rising from her seat. As nonchalantly as she could she stepped around the table towards him, and very lightly touched his hand with hers. He didn’t pull away. “Do you have plates or anything?”

He nodded and crossed the room to the wall opposite her little ‘bedroom’. There were faint lines there which she had noticed before but never closely examined, and he place his hand there and pushed. She sighed at herself for never having checked that as the concealed storage unfolded to reveal a tiny kitchenette complete with a chute for waste. At least that explained where the food boxes had gone the last time.

“I can’t believe I never noticed that.”

“You’ve been preoccupied.” He said, still not quite looking at her.

“You could say that.” Examining closer she could see that the compact unit had plates, cutlery and a sanitizer for used items. She grabbed a plate for herself and offered him one, which he took. So he hadn’t eaten then. Interesting. “You know I always thought it odd how so many different alien races have the same amenities as on Earth.”

“How so?” He followed her to the box, which she began to disembowel.

“You know, forks? Toilets? Beds with pillows? I thought that civilizations separated so much by distance and technology would be, I don’t know, different? But get under the aesthetics of things and with a few exceptions we’re all really similar. I mean how is it that everyone knows English?”

“What is English?”

“The language you’re speaking right now?”

He smiled for the first time since he’d gotten back. “I think you’re mistaken. This is the common tongue, known by all civilizations that are god-touched. It is the language of the Kais.”

“The hell is a Kai?”

“The gods of this universe. Many races have guardians that represent them on the mortal plain, but they’re only mortal themselves.”

“Oh, I guess that’s our Kami then.” She mused.

“Yes, you mentioned a Kami.”

They both stopped, realising what he was referring to, and to Bulma’s delight he blushed like a schoolboy. She couldn’t help but laugh.

“We always thought he was god, but when we met him, well it came out that he was more of a guardian, which I guess fits what you said.”

“You met your planet’s guardian?”

“It’s a long story. Did your race have one?”

“I believe we were meant to…” he replied evasively, “I’m not sure how the story went precisely, it was a long time ago. Suffice it to say that if we did have a guardian they weren’t around for very long.”

She could see him relaxing, and it was like watching a tightly twisted rope slowly releasing. Even so, it seemed a ridiculous juxtaposition to her that, despite what they were facing, they could be having this pleasant chat over breakfast as if this was normal. It was comfortable, but temporary and they both knew it. She sighed and put down her plate.

“So what’s next?” She asked him. “I can’t stay in here forever.”

“That is true. Tomorrow at least is your rest day and then you’ll return to laboratory duties, and that will continue for as long as possible.” He too discarded his plate. He’d been eating standing up, leaning against the wall, but now he had taken to pacing. “If I get reassigned to a new ship I can easily have you incorporated into the crew, that’s well within my authority. If I’m sent on a solo mission ...I don’t know, I haven’t worked that out yet.”

Bulma nodded in quiet contemplation. She understood his concern, that if he were sent off-planet without the capacity to bring her with him she would be without even the basic protection she’d had before as a research asset. In her opinion Vegeta’s reputation alone would dissuade the common soldier from making her a mark, but if her short time in the Wardroom taught her anything it was that Vegeta was not liked within his own ranks. Zarbon, especially, seemed to be particularly antagonistic towards him, and she had no illusions as to what she represented to people like that. She was a plaything in their eyes, to be bought, sold and given away as they saw fit, and they had given her to Vegeta as a  _ joke _ . And like children playing in the park, what little provocation would it take for them to decide to break his toys?

It wasn’t until that evening, standing in the cloying heat and odours of exotic smoking herbs, that she really understood why Vegeta had been so anxious to hide their liaison. Although she vaguely knew the rules about fraternization she thought it was embarrassment more than anything else on his part, but the truth of it was that the elite of Planet Cold were quarrelsome, callous and - perhaps worst of all -  _ intensely  _ bored. And now they knew her face and name, and that Vegeta had a preference for her. She no longer took his concerns lightly.

“I need to know who sent that footage, if indeed anyone did and it wasn’t just Zarbon nosing around.” He said, breaking her reverie. “You’ve accessed the archives before, can you do it again?”

She looked up sharply. Without Ala’s guidance she didn’t think she could, besides which she’d never accessed the security footage systems directly, but had only viewed stored video through Vegeta’s medical file. That much at least she told him, though omitting Ala’s contribution. She knew it would be far too dangerous to tell him about Inapp, or even to hint that they were at least safe from that quarter, so she didn’t try. He shrugged, mildly disappointed, but accepted her conclusion.

“It would be suicidal to try to infiltrate Zarbon’s personal comms,” he murmured, almost to himself, “if caught it would be our necks, and he would make sure of that.”

Bulma carefully said nothing.

“Just be cautious for now.” He said finally, finding no immediate solution. “I’ll figure something out later.”

This was a far cry from the Vegeta of three evenings ago. She wondered how much of what he’d said to her then he still remembered. Her anger had largely dissipated, and his attempts last night to retract those sentiments, clumsy as they were, had been instrumental to that change. She didn’t expect him to address it further, and if she were honest with herself she didn’t want him to. They had enough to figure out as it was without constantly going over the past.

“I hope you don’t expect me to stay in here all day?” She asked, pointedly moving the conversation along. “I’m gonna go out of my mind with nothing to do.”

“I can think of at least one thing that you could be doing.” He said quietly, looking towards the bedroom door.

Was he suggesting what she thought he was suggesting? She hoped so, but at the same time she had an ambivalent war of amusement at his changing attitude and minor affront that he’d be so brazen about it. After all, his weird shyness about sex was one of the things she liked about him. She’d also been fighting off having to examine how she felt about being known throughout the base as the Prince’s bed warmer, and for him to boldly suggest she give credence to that rumour chafed a bit.

“If housekeeping sees that mess every bastard on the planet will know where you’ve taken to sleeping. There are spare sheets in the wardrobe, I assume you know what to do with them?”

Oh, she thought, never mind then.

She smiled and nodded, hoping he wouldn’t see her furious blush. A voice in the back of her head was telling her she ought to be far more outraged to be given laundry duty but she hastily quietened it and headed for the bedroom. He followed.

“Ok first of all,” she said, hands on her hips, “the hell d’you do to this wardrobe door?”

He shrugged from his position leaning on the bedroom door frame. “I punched it, obviously.”

“Why, did it have an opinion?”

“Don’t push it, woman.”

She ignored him and extracted the promised sheets. “Well, let’s get started then.”

“Excuse me?”

“Do you think I’m doing this on my own?” She nearly laughed at his offended expression. “That is your mess too mister and you are going to help me, so get over here.”

“You don’t give me orders.”

“I did last night.”

“That’s different!” He flustered, turning red.

“Is it though?” She toned down her playfully aggressive tone and smiled at him. “Come on, tough guy, it won’t kill you to give me a hand.” She thought he was going to refuse, but with a bad-tempered huff he gave in and joined her.

If someone had told her just a short couple of months before that she and this man would be sharing housework and trading friendly insults she’d have laughed in their face, and yet here she was, showing her abductor how to unfold a sheet and manipulate the tricky fitted corners. He huffed throughout but she had the sense that his irritation was not entirely genuine.

He left her not long after, citing tasks he had yet to complete from the morning, and gave her stern but lenient instructions. She could leave the room but not before the canteen opened, and was now free to use whatever she pleased while trapped within. As much as she’d enjoyed the false domesticity that had sprung up between them, she wasn’t sorry to see him go. She needed more time to think, and having to revive the conversation from his constant lapses into grim meditation was tiring.

“Bulma...” He’d stopped at the partially opened door and looked like he wanted to say something, but the pause dragged on too long. Eventually the awkwardness became too much for him and he’d responded to her encouraging nod with a curt “Be careful.” Then he was gone.

As she hadn’t expected much in the way of affectionate display from him she wasn’t disappointed. To have an expectation she’d need to know what they even were, other than completely crazy of course, and that exact delineation still escaped her. Her feelings for him were complicated, full of contradictions and fears, but where they failed at being identifiable they didn’t falter in strength. She didn’t know quite what she felt for Vegeta, but whatever it was she felt it very strongly. She considered her relationship with Yamcha, that comfortable, unchallenging partnership that had always left her slightly cold and knew it was no comparison to this heady fascination she was now indulging. But still, she couldn’t bring herself to introduce the word ‘romance’ to this evolution of her amicable flirtation with the Prince.

 

* * *

 

He didn’t know exactly why but he had to get out of there. Being near Bulma was as engaging as always but at the same having to constantly second guess how he was now supposed to behave towards her was pulling his nerves apart. He had no point of reference for how two beings in their situation were meant to conduct themselves in private, and when the stress became too much he excused himself and left her. At least he hadn’t lied, he technically did have work to do.

The atmosphere in the corridors had changed. Whereas before in the first circle he could expect at worse indifference from his peers he was now the subject of unwanted interest. Some officers and other high-ranking individuals would smirk or cock an eyebrow at him on the way past, mockingly for the most part but some were merely playfully teasing. One officer even went so far as to address him in an almost friendly manner, confusing him greatly. He coldly rebuffed these tiny attempts at banter.

By the time he’d reached the second circle and his labs his face was burning. Happily he could see that the news either hadn’t reached the civilian level or was of no interest as he inspired no more than the usual wary deference he’d enjoyed up to now from the ants as they scuttled to and fro. But the occasional hushed whisper of a passing soldier to another upon seeing him left him in no doubt as to his altered reputation with the soldiers. It bothered him, but he also reasoned that at least Bulma had the slim protection of them knowing whose woman she was.

_ His woman _ . It was a sudden epiphany to him, that all his struggle to define what she was had been over-complicating the matter. She was a woman and she was his, and that was the end of the matter. How she classified him in return didn’t matter either, because when they came together as they had last night they didn’t do so as master and slave, or even as two people of different ranks, but as equals. He supposed that made him her property as much as he now realised he thought of her as his.

He would have pursued the thought further but was distracted by a notification on his data tablet. His face darkened as he read the comm: he was requested to attend the Wardroom that evening, once again at the behest of Zarbon.

With great difficulty he calmly composed an affirmative response and went about his last few lab inspections. If any of his overseers though him out of sorts they had the good sense not to mention it.

 

*   *   *

 

“Vegeta, you finally made it. And I was beginning to wonder if your recent dalliance had given you a taste for insubordination.”

Zarbon was ensconced firmly at one of the Wardrooms many dining tables, set for two and with a handful of toadies nearby, evidently hoping to be asked to join him. Vegeta didn’t reply but approached the table with practiced disdain, knowing better than to take the empty seat until offered it, and when it was he took care to show how little he cared for the privilege.

“I ordered something suitable to your tastes, from what little I remember of Saiyan cuisine while enjoying your father’s hospitality back in the day.” Zarbon drawled on as his sycophants took themselves away to good vantage spots. “The kitchens were rather shocked at the crudity of the dish but there’s no explaining culture to the unwashed masses.”

Vegeta didn’t bite. Zarbon would never so much as step foot in a kitchen, and he expected this account was a fabrication intended to anger him. He remained completely deadpan.

“Still, eventually they were made to understand, and I told them I couldn’t care less if it was below their skillset, their orders were to prepare a traditional Saiyan meal for my honoured guest this evening.” Zarbon smiled unpleasantly. “Sometimes the servants can forget their place and begin to have thoughts above their station.”

At this Vegeta stole a curious glance at the servants stood to attention around the room and, sure enough, those in earshot were suddenly standing very stiffly indeed. They needn’t have stressed themselves, however, he knew  _ exactly _ who the barb was aimed at.

“You shouldn’t have gone to so much effort.” He said eventually, not quite keeping the sarcasm from his tone.

“Well, we see you so infrequently that I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to make you feel welcome here.” He waved a lazy hand at the servers who hastily took themselves to the kitchens. “I think you’ll approve. It’s just so  _ appropriate _ .”

Almost as soon as they’d left the servers returned, carrying between two of them a very large plate upon which was a very large, very roughly cut hunk of red meat, and as it was presented to him he could see blood oozing around the bottom of the platter. There were no vegetables, no garnish, and clearly the only preparation that had gone into this so-called “dish” was a brief introduction to an open flame and little else. Another servant silently laid his table with a large carving knife. His eye was caught by another servant carrying a much smaller plate towards Zarbon, upon which was an artfully crafted little sculpture, with fussily arranged curls of thinly sliced meat, among other things, masquerading as food. The intended insult was clear but Vegeta had to smirk. Zarbon had unwittingly served him the only good meal he’d ever seen in the Wardroom.

“I  _ do _ wish I could join you with that but my  _ delicate _ constitution isn’t suited to such a  _ traditional _ dish. I simply couldn’t digest something like that.” He lifted his own fork and waved it around airily. “How I  _ adore _ appreciating other cultures.”

Zarbon was waiting for a reaction. Despite his momentary temptation towards mirth Vegeta refused to give him the immediate satisfaction and made him wait. Slowly, he lifted his fork and made a show of appraising the meat.

“So? How does it look? Is it everything you remember from your father’s table?” Zarbon pressed with badly concealed impatience.

“Hmph, hardly authentic.” He said, the words as unbidden as his uncontrollable smirk. “For one thing they’ve removed all the hide, and why did you peasants present this on a platter? A poor effort.”

Zarbon laughed as the servants bowed and retreated, clearly affronted. “I think you’ve offended them.”

“Didn’t you just say they needed reminding of their place in the world?” He shrugged and lifted his knife. “All the same, this is still an improvement on the usual slop. I’m grateful that my digestion is more robust than yours.”

Zarbon curled his lip and said nothing as Vegeta calmly began to slice his meat. Instead he attempted to obtain a mouthful of his own meal, which collapsed the moment his fork touched it. Vegeta snorted quietly.

“I was so glad that Lord Freeza treated you so leniently regarding recent events.” He said eventually, self-consciously dismantling the remaining food sculpture. “As much as it pained me to bring the situation to his attention I think we can all agree it worked out in everyone’s favour, hmm? Well,” he smiled unpleasantly, “except the woman’s.”

Vegeta avoided having to answer by taking his first bite. The meat was excellent, which was just as well as Zarbon’s change of subject was bringing a sour taste to his mouth.

“There aren’t many officers of your middling rank who can boast their own personal slave, are there? You must be the envy of all the lesser captains.”

“If I were I wouldn’t much care. The woman is burdensome and having to make arrangements for her is tiresome. Be glad that Freeza has never seen fit to extend the honour to yourself.”

They glared at one-another across the table, each daring the other to visibly react. Vegeta couldn’t remember the last time he’d risen to Zarbon’s taunts like this, but there was something about the way he was prodding about looking for chinks in his armour that filled him with cold fury. He knew he should stop, that Zarbon had the advantage in this contest, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. He wanted to bring the smug bastard down a peg.

“But then I suppose by the time Freeza is done with you for the day you’ve lost your taste for that kind of amusement. Being his lapdog must be so exhausting.”

“Better than his jester at least.” Zarbon bit back with uncharacteristic rancour, but collected himself quickly and moved the conversation along. “How’s your meal now that you’ve done more than just look at it?”

“Not as poor as I expected. I might spend more time here if they’d stop ruining perfectly good food and serve it like this.” Vegeta looked pointedly at Zarbon’s plate, observing how the intricate structure had imploded. “I suppose the kitchens are trying to cater to your so-called ‘delicate constitution’ with art projects like that.”

“I note you’ve requested a second room for your slave.” Zarbon said, a subtle twitch of the eye the only indicator of his ruffled feathers. 

Vegeta shrugged. “What of it?”

“I suppose when you’re done with her for the night you’d rather be rid of her then?”

“I don’t keep that sort of slave.” He replied simply, spearing another piece of meat.

“Oh come now,” laughed his companion coldly, “we all know what you got up to in the laboratory.”

Vegeta didn’t reply, his words stoppered by a mix of shame and rage.

“She’s as much a monkey as you are, it seems.” Zarbon pushed, sensing he was regaining the upper hand. “I don’t know why you persist in this pretence, Vegeta. If anything I’d say the soldiery have a newfound respect for you, now they know you’re as mortal as they are.”

The food was no longer delicious. If anything he had to consciously force himself to chew with what little of his willpower wasn’t focussed on preventing himself from launching across the table to attack Zarbon then and there.

“Speaking of the soldiers, I’m told they were very disappointed you chose to keep her instead of letting her be passed around as we suggested. There’s some element of exclusivity of course, after you smoked one of Cui’s privates for daring to touch her, that makes her somehow desirable to them. I don’t understand it myself but then if everyone had my high standards most species would go extinct. But still, when you’re not using her yourself you ought to loan her out, perhaps earn back those credits you were docked.”

Vegeta inhaled deeply through his nose, aware of his clenched fists on the table but unable to force them to relax.

“She’s such a little thing, fittingly.” Zarbon chuckled but without real humour. “I assume you’re keeping your prize pig locked up safely, we wouldn’t want any unauthorised use to damage her, eh?”

The knife bent slightly in his fist.

“I hope she’s got a tight little cunt.”

Vegeta stood up violently, knocking the table slightly as he did so. He tossed his bent knife down and it clattered across the table, stopping to rock gently in front of the victorious Zarbon. Every eye on the room was drawn to his sudden rise as he gave one last scathing look before turning on his heel. He could feel Zarbon’s triumphant sneer following him but he just didn’t  _ care  _ anymore. Without another word he left, deciding neither hell nor high water - nor even Freeza’s wrath - would  _ ever _ convince him to step foot in the Wardroom again.

 

*   *   *

 

He went directly to his rooms. He didn’t even think about it, his feet knew where he wanted to go and why. To lose his temper so publicly, and to have had so little control over himself like that after so many orbits of carefully regulating his emotions and forcing himself not to feel the constant sting of mental assault from Freeza’s minions, he was almost as furious with himself as with Zarbon. Every time he entered the Wardroom some form of humiliation waited for him, and all he could do was sit and wait there for it. And this time it was doubly worse, because now Zarbon knew for certain that Vegeta was compromised.

Bulma was his weakness, and it was now too late to rectify that.

The crude comments had angered him not just because he found them disgusting but because he saw plainly the threats implied, and it filled his stomach with icy fear. His anger he could explain away, she was  _ his _ after all, and any warrior with a shred of honour to his name could justify preserving his rightful property, but the fear, that was a product of his newly admitted weakness. He’d already admitted that he cared about her and now his resistance to those initial feelings was justified. Anyone who wanted to hurt him now knew exactly how.

The need to see her now was intense. He reasoned that he was only trying to ascertain that she was indeed still fine and that Zarbon’s ugly words hadn’t manifested in actual harm - in short he was hurrying to see her for her own good. His own reassurance he wanted to believe was secondary, but that wasn’t enough to justify the snakes writhing in his stomach as he approached his apartment.

He turned the corner and could see his door, but before he could heave a sigh of relief he noticed that the occupation indicator was dimmed. Frowning, he also checked his scouter; she was not in the room.

The door slid open for him and, despite already knowing she wasn’t there, he looked around for her, in the bathroom, behind the screen and finally in the bedroom. Her scent lingered but it was hours old. He could feel his temper rising, which had the beneficial effect of masking even to himself how unnerved and uncomfortable he was realising that he didn’t know where she was. His scouter’s highest sensitivity for spirit energy still couldn’t pin down her tiny signature among all the tiny pinpricks that populated the base.

He stopped pacing the rooms, glanced at the time and sighed audibly.

“This is stupid.” He said aloud. “I’m being stupid.”

Bulma’s canteens were still open, and he’d given her no specific time to leave or return for her sustenance, she must still be there. He was still angry with her for taking advantage of his lax instruction, she should have been here waiting for him if she cared as much as she said she did. He knew his anger and alarm were both disproportionate to the situation, though he didn’t know why.

He stifled a yawn.  _ She  _ may have been able to sleep in that morning but he certainly hadn’t. He would just go lie down and wait for her. She wouldn’t be much longer. He readied himself for bed, half-smiling, half-frowning to himself at the poor job they’d done on the bed covers as he did so. Just for a few minutes, he thought as he settled down, he would just close his eye for a few minutes while he waited.

 

* * *

 

 

Bulma had stayed out much later than she’d intended to, even though she was still the first person to leave. The next day would be her lab’s rest day and everyone else was still in  the recreation hall, enjoying their limited freedom with the prospect of their weekly lie-in. She checked the time display on the corridor wall and quickened her pace. She wasn’t particularly late, given that the revelry she’d left had only just just started really, but she felt like she should be back at the rooms early, at least this one time.

She’d been so stupid. She grinned sheepishly the whole walk back, occasionally shaking her head in disbelief that she could have been so dense. Her labmates, in particular the old healer Makky, had got her alone and explain everything to her. Dear, sweet, dumb-as-bricks Si’eth, she thought to herself. They had tried to explain to him that what he wanted them to do would only make her feel worse but when he was adamant about a bad idea there was no convincing him. She recalled his dogged determination to get Vegeta to accept anasthetic and Makky had already told her how that went down. She felt no resentment towards her overseer, he was after all only trying to help, but she wished he would take advice on social matters; his track record was poor indeed.

Si’eth was absent that evening, but Bulma gave Makky the authority to pass along the sentiment that she was more or less back to herself and he could stop. The relief was incredible, she didn’t even realise how heavy she’d felt before.

She hadn’t seen Ala that evening, and perhaps that was for the best. She hadn’t felt her either, though she’d sometimes fooled herself into thinking she felt the whisper of her in her mind. It was not to be however. Bulma, now restored of a good portion of her self-confidence and now tempered slightly with the self-knowledge she’d been lacking, resolved that somehow she would track down Ala on her rest day tomorrow. Once she did, she would tell her everything she could. Her smile faltered. That meant telling her about Vegeta. That also meant having to figure her feelings out for herself.

There was no denying of course that she had feelings for him. She felt a little guilty, even believing as she had come to that Yamcha must be dead by now, but it wasn’t enough to stop her feelings blossoming. She had no good reason to have feelings for him, but it was too late now and she had to admit she had them. It was imperative now that she get to Ala somehow and tell her what was going on, even if it was merely confession.

She reached her destination and with firmness and self-control she shelved all thoughts of Ala. There was nothing she could do about it tonight. She opened the door with her thumbprint and stepped inside what she figured she ought to start thinking of as her room.

She wasn’t surprised to find the living area empty. It might not be late but Vegeta did very little lounging. He’d probably be sat up in bed catching up on the last bits of the day’s work or reading reports on his data tablet. She crossed over to the bedroom door and slid it open gently.

He was fast asleep.

Bulma bit her lip. The previous evening, drunk on the heat of their lovemaking, he’d told her she could sleep where she liked, but that was then and this was now. Was that meant only to apply to that night or all nights? She didn’t know and decided reluctantly to play it safe. She switched his lights off as she silently withdrew.

That was a fine way of showing his concern for her, she thought in annoyance while getting ready for bed herself. Even if he  _ was _ tired, if he actually gave a damn he’d have waited up for her, to be certain she made it back safe. For all he knew she might have fallen down a black hole that evening and his sleepy ass would be none-the-wiser.

_ Ah whatever _ . She slipped into her own little bed and started to settle in. They could both use the early night, after all days on Planet Cold were a good seven Earth hours longer than what she had been used to. Her stab of indignation simmered down into a little grumble and then further into nothing as she slipped off into dreams.

 

* * *

 

 

“Bulma?” Vegeta’s gruff voice woke her. He was stood at the screen door, outlined against the faint light of the apartment. She made a sleepy noise of acknowledgement. “Are you unwell again?”

His tone was not one of concern, but more of irritation. What he had to be irritated by escaped her but she was in no mood to fight. Instead she leaned up on one elbow, spying the time on the console behind him as she did so. She’d not been asleep long.

“Wha’ you mean?” She yawned.

“Why are you sleeping out here?” He asked testily.

“It’s my bed?” She replied sleepily. “That’s what you told me.”

“That was before-” He sort of growled and sighed at the same time before continuing. “You expressed a preference for ...elsewhere.”

She sat up further. “What are you talking about you weirdo?”

“Nothing!” He snapped, clearly offended but she didn’t know why. “Sleep out here if you want to.”

“Vegeta, do you want me to come sleep in your room?” She asked, perplexed, annoyed and amused all at once.

“No! I mean-” he gathered himself, “if you want to, I really don’t care.”

“Well if you don’t care why are you here snapping at me?” She replied with infuriating calmness.

“Fine!” He threw his hands up in the air and turned away. “Please yourself then.”

“Vegeta, stop being insane and just wait a second.” She said, easing a leg out of bed. She was grateful for the low light so he couldn’t see her grinning. “If you’d like company tonight you only have to say. Only, I gotta be honest, if this is a booty call you are fresh out of luck because I am so freaking tired.”

“The hell is a ‘booty call’?” He snarled in spite of himself. She explained briefly and despite the darkness she swore she could  _ feel _ him blushing. “That - what? No! Confound it, woman, can’t you keep your mind out of the gutter for one goddamned evening?”

“Well as the only night I’ve spent in there was a particularly sweaty one you’ll forgive me for questioning your motives.” She swung her other leg out of bed and sat up straight. “Freeza may think he can give me to whomsoever he pleases for whatever the hell they want but you mark me right now I am not your slave, got it?”

“First of all how dare you,” he turned back to her, his expression unreadable in the low light, “I would  _ never _ -”

There was a long pause, during which Bulma respectfully waited for him to gather his thoughts and try to form a sentence.

“I just want to sleep. And I don’t think of you as a slave, no more than I think of myself as one anyway.” He considered his next words for as long a pause. “I think it would be a wasted effort to try to protect you from ...that ...if I was planning to just ...”

“Maybe I could have phrased all of that better.” She conceded, rising. “But now at least we understand each other. How about we go to bed? It is late and I don’t want to sleep away my day off tomorrow.”

He nodded silently and moved away from her towards the bedroom. Smiling, and a bit embarrassed, she followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I apologise for the wait. I am about to have a baby (literally any day now) and have been trying to make my house baby safe! :)


	19. Progress

_ Young Prince Vegeta was in a foul mood. He had been thwarted and ignored without explanation or a chance to press his suit, and now sat in seething resentment at his father’s table as the adults made excessively dull conversation. His mother was seated further away with his siblings and their mothers and attendants at a separate table. The boy-prince was not the least bit impressed. _

_ At least he’d finally seen the fabled Freeza, he thought to himself, eyeing with unhidden disdain the short, horned little alien that had displaced his father from his usual seat at the head of the table. He couldn’t hear much of what they were discussing, but from the general tone of the table he didn’t think he’d be much interested in it if he could. _

_ He stabbed at his food aggressively, trying to think how best to make his displeasure clear, when he heard his name called. There was always a subtle difference to how people said his name compared to his father’s. He glared in the direction of the sound and was mildly surprised to see himself being addressed by Freeza himself. Had he been less myopic he might have noticed the table hush apprehensively. _

_ “You are very quiet this evening, your highness. And I would like to know what your plate has done to offend you.” _

_ He stared nonplussed at the smirking emperor before sniffing dismissively and laying down his fork. _

_ “I’m bored. This is boring. You all talk about dull stuff.” _

_ “Vegeta!” The king barked warningly, but was unheeded as Freeza himself burst out in a little peal of laughter. _

_ “You are a forthright little monkey, aren’t you?” He teased, leaning his chin on his purple nailed hand. “A true Saiyan! Leave it to a child to prove that no matter how you dress and feed them, wild animals are always just that.” _

_ “I’d rather be a wild animal than a stuffy, boring-” Here he began to form a curse word that he’d been saving for a special occasion but the warrior to his right, quicker on the uptake than his fellows, cuffed him hard across the back of the head. His chin hit his plate noisily. _

_ “Need I remind you,” the same warrior hissed low so only Vegeta could hear him, “that your mother is watching?” _

_ Vegeta turned his gaze to her table, very close and within earshot. It was at this point that he noticed how quiet the room had become. Her face was a picture of horrified dismay. _

_ Face burning with unfamiliar emotion, he turned from her and addressed the warrior. _

_ “Lay a finger on me again and you’ll lose it.” _

_ “Oh-ho-ho!” Freeza erupted, holding his hand in front of his face effeminately. “I think you need to get the little scamp packed off into my army, King Vegeta. Don’t worry, my men can teach him the discipline he is clearly lacking at home!” _

_ The prince had his mouth open to retort but the look on his father’s face stayed him. It wasn’t anger, it wasn’t even a threat, it was fear. He was confused, and more than a little unnerved by the realisation. What was his father so afraid of? _

_ Still, the mention of an army intrigued him. He had some notion that being a soldier involved travelling and fighting, the first being something he longed to do and the second a thing he already excelled at. _

_ “He is very young, my lord-” _

_ “Nonsense! Don’t you savages send your infants off in space pods to do their patriotic duty?” The little emperor laughed coldly. “Gaining a greater perspective on his position in the universe will be of endless benefit to him, I’m sure.” _

_ “Thank you, your eminence.” King Vegeta said, sounding strained. _

_ “Of course, of course.” The lizard took a long draught of his wine. “He can leave with us tomorrow. See, I’ve even saved you the trouble of sending him to me. Are you not overflowing with gratitude?” _

_ Prince Vegeta didn’t understand immediately, and by the time he’d caught up with everyone else at the table Lord Freeza had already begun move the conversation along. He was going to be taken away, suddenly, without his permission sought. Though he thought he would quite enjoy a few days away as a soldier, he was incensed that such a decision was made for him by this ridiculous looking emperor with his infuriating laugh, and for him to then act as if the fate of the Crown Prince of the Saiyans was an inconsequential thing was unacceptable. Vegeta snarled. _

_ “Wait a minute, who said I’m going anywhere? What if I don’t want to?” He asserted gracelessly. “I don’t take orders from you.” _

_ Silence descended once again and all eyes were now turned to Lord Freeza. He turned to look at the boy properly, giving him his full attention for the first time. His face was fixed in a half smile as he coldly appraised the little prince, his fingers daintily hovering on the stem of his wine glass. The child was glaring furiously at him, not cowed by his red eyed gaze nor in any way aware of the danger he was in. In an odd way he was impressed. Freeza lifted a finger and pointed it lazily at the boy. _

_ King Vegeta inhaled sharply. “My lord, please-” _

_ The warriors either side of Prince Vegeta had shifted noticeably away from him and were staring in silent horror at the tyrant’s extended finger. He didn’t understand but the apprehension of his tablemates was beginning to affect him. _

_ “Zarbon, have a file made up at HQ1 for this feral tot, will you?” Freeza said eventually. He lowered his finger to the curious relief of the room. “I think he’ll bring us much amusement.” _

 

* * *

 

“What are you doing?”

Bulma frowned, nonplussed. They were lying together in the darkness of his room, with Vegeta lying on his side facing away from her. She’d rolled towards him and draped an arm sleepily around his waist. It seemed such a small gesture, given the disorderly mess of limbs they’d been the previous night, that she hadn’t given a moment’s thought to the embrace, but she’d felt him tense sharply.

“How d’you mean?” She asked. He was wearing the standard issue vest and pyjama pants, as was she, and she was gently stroking the curve of his waist in the hopes of soothing him. It didn’t seem to be working. 

“That, what you’re doing with your hand.”

“What, touching you?”

“You said you didn’t want to do any of that tonight.”

Bulma closed her eyes and, breathing deeply through her nose, slowly and deliberately withdrew her hand. Her first reaction was frustrated irritation, and she wanted to snap at him for being so obtuse, but she resisted the impulse and marshalled her patience. What must his formative years have been like that he didn’t even understand being hugged? Furthermore, what did it say about  _ her _ that she was so intent on doing it? She decided not to dwell on either of those troubling thoughts. Instead she placed her fingertips lightly on Vegeta’s back.

“While I’m glad you now recognise that there are kinds of physical contact that don’t involve punching or medical intervention, there is a whole mess of grey area that you’re kind of missing.” She pressed her palm to his back as well and ran her hand up his shoulder blade. “Touching is a pretty big spectrum, and yeah at one end there’s beating the living crap out of someone, and at the other there’s what we did last night, but in between there’s all this nice stuff, like hugging, kissing, shaking hands, fist-bumps - none of which have to end in sex or violence.” She squeezed his shoulder lightly and thought she felt him untensing just a fraction. “Incidentally, how much of that you want to do is entirely up to you; just because you’ve banged someone that doesn’t mean you have to let them hold your hand if you don’t want them to. The same applies here.” Her gentle squeeze became a massage and she nudged herself closer to him so that her body was pressing against his. Her hand travelled along his upper arm before sliding down to the curve of his waist again and around his middle to gently caress his firm abdomen. “To answer your first question, on my planet we call this spooning, and it’s basically what you do with someone you like to have sex with when you’re not having sex. You’ll recognize its cousin ‘cuddling’ from last night, which is what you call all the bits between the sex. These are all variations on a form of hugging, and if you’d had more of it beforehand you might not be such an insane weirdo right now.”

After a few moments silence, Vegeta replied. “Are you quite finished, Earth woman?”

“I think so.” She mused, admittedly very pleased with herself. “Are you gonna tell me to stop touching you? Because I will if you ask.”

“Do what you like.” He conceded, and she felt him finally relax - insofar as he ever relaxed - into her embrace. “But don’t you dare try any of that other shit outside of this room.”

“Are you kidding me? And have everyone on the base think I actually like you?”

He was silent, and not for the first time Bulma worried she’d overstepped her bounds.

“Vegeta?” She nuzzled the back of his neck. “That was a joke.”

“Humph!” He grunted. “Like I care either way.”

“Right, right.” She smiled, angling her cheek against his back to rest.

“So how long does this continue for?” He asked after another moment’s silence. “Surely not the whole night?”

“Until one or both parties has had enough.”

“Then what?”

“What else?” She laughed sleepily. “Roll over and go to sleep.”

“Oh.” He paused again. “Have you had enough yet?”

“Hmm, depends. Have you?”

“I will tolerate it, if that’s what you mean.”

She smiled against the flesh that wasn’t covered by his vest. He knew exactly what she meant, and more and more she was beginning to understand him too. If he needed an excuse to allow himself this intimacy, she could give it to him.

“Shut up then, I’m not done.”

 

* * *

 

 

Vegeta awoke to his alarm tone, and considered ignoring it, but as Bulma began to stir in her sleep he grudgingly rolled over and turned it off with a wave. He sat up and rubbed his face.

This time he didn’t have to extract himself from a pile of sweaty limbs, for which he was grateful. She was stretched out over what he now grudgingly supposed he had to consider as ‘her side’ of the bed, and he could just about see her pale cheek past her shoulder. She’d managed somehow to commandeer the majority of the sheets overnight and even now as he relinquished what little of them he had left she was slowly making a cocoon out of them, though evidently still asleep. He indulged himself in wasting a few moments watching her slumber, even allowing himself to smirk at her increasing resemblance to some horrific blanket grub. She was unbecomingly dishevelled and as he leaned over to brush the mussed hair from her eyes he could see she’d been drooling. It had stuck her hair to her cheek. He repressed a shudder, but stroked her face gently and briefly before leaving the bed. She made a small noise, but he didn’t know what it signified.

He got ready quickly and quietly and slipped out of the apartment before she’d truly begun to wake. Her lab might be off duty that day but the labs under his direction, her previous one included, were decidedly not.

There was a lot of data he’d missed from the previous day’s reports and he was so busy poring over this that he almost didn’t notice the caped officer who fell into step with him. Confused by the sudden companion, he chose to ignore them in the hopes that they would simply go away.

“Hey, hey Captain Vegeta?”

No such luck.

He raised his eye to glare at the intruder, and recognised him vaguely from the Wardroom as a mid-level captain, reasonably decorated but otherwise insignificant. His mammalian face was the only hairless part of him that he could see, the rest of him was coated in smooth blue fur.

“You’re headed to the mess I suppose?” The captain asked genially. “Most of us prefer the Wardroom but I can see why you can’t abide the place. I myself only go for the food if I’m honest. There’s not a lot else there for us captains, right?” He chuckled. Vegeta remained silent.

“You know, I heard about yesterday evening.” He continued fearlessly. “To be honest I’m surprised you two didn’t come to blows. I know how I’d react if someone spoke about  _ my _ woman that way.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Vegeta growled, returning his eyes to his data tablet.

“Oh come off it.” The other captain rejoined. “Call them what you want, your woman, man, spouse, whore, most of us have one somewhere, either here or on some base somewhere, and it’s hardly something to be ashamed of. Everyone knows, you don’t need to keep up this act. If anything it’s improved your reputation - it’s good to know that there’s flesh and blood under that armour. The rumour had been that you were secretly a cyborg.”

“What’s your point?” Vegeta snapped.

“I don’t have a point.” He said, shrugging. “I was just passing. Anyway, here’s where we part.”

He stopped and indicated his divergent route. He turned, his cape billowing out behind him, and headed off towards the Wardroom. Vegeta scowled darkly and continued towards the mess.

 

* * *

 

 

She touched her own cheek where his fingers had brushed her. She’d been just conscious enough to feel that, and hear him leave the apartment soon after. It felt so natural as she drifted in and out of sleep, and it wasn’t until she woke fully that the bizarreness of her situation really came into focus.

For all the warmth and safety she’d felt while sharing his bed, the moment he was gone she had to admit to herself that she was playing a game of happy families that could end in a moment. Moving around the apartment as she prepared to leave she couldn’t help but feel disconnected from it with him absent. This was not her bed, this was not her home and this was not her life.

It was a malaise that her natural cheer couldn’t quite dissipate by itself, but - happily for Bulma - her labmates were present in the canteen when she arrived. Happy for the distraction, she joined them enthusiastically.

“Anyone going to the Arena match today?” Asked one of the engineers.

“Not likely,” replied a smiling medical technician, “Arena matches just mean more work for us poor healers.”

An amused murmur of agreement passed around the table.

“I might swim or something. Though I heard that the guys in the Saibaman lab managed to get some books smuggled in, I might check that out.”

Ah, Bulma thought, the eternal conundrum - how does a slave spend their day off? It was usual that most research assets worked for five days and were then granted a single day of leisure before the next five day stint. She’d wondered in the early days why they’d bother giving ostensible slaves any free time but had been assured that the decision was based on proven research that concluded a rest day increased the workforce productivity overall. The same went for the make-believe currency that was doled out to workers. It was to falsify a sense of normality, to distract and mollify them.

In order to make this fantasy more convincing they had recreation rooms, littered with games and activities stolen from so many different alien civilisations that Bulma still wasn’t sure how many of them even worked, the communal gymnasiums, swimming facilities, a library of certain approved books and of course the infamous Arena. There were also purchasable items available, most often drinks and speciality foods but also drugs in the form of depressants and stimulants, which was where the majority of people’s credits went. When she’d first earned herself a respectable amount of credits Bulma had tried one of these alien herbs out of a sudden desperate craving for a cigarette and hadn’t touched them since. Human physiology wasn’t made for such things, she’d concluded.

“What’re you doing today, Bulma?” Someone asked her, snapping her out of her reverie.

“Me? Oh, um, I’m going to check out my old lab, see how everyone is doing.” She answered truthfully. “Haven’t spoken to Ala in a while.”

“Be careful, she’ll probably rope you into working all day.” Warned a colleague playfully. “She’s good at that, always manages to get that little bit extra out of people, you know?”

“She has her ways.” Bulma shrugged. “Besides, what else is there to do? Once you’ve been through the rec-room once that’s kind of it. I might consider working if she’s got anything interesting to do.”

“Well, suit yourself. I suppose it has to be better than-” The technician hushed herself quickly, glancing fearfully at Bulma to see if she had mentally completed the sentence.

“It’s ok.” Bulma smiled wanly, grasping clearly what was being alluded to. “It isn’t what you think. The only thing that’s changed is that I sleep in the First Circle now, on a crappy portable bed and with a very grumpy roommate.”

It was like a spell had been lifted, and suddenly Bulma was overwhelmed with the questions that clearly no one had been brave enough to ask before. They wanted to know everything, what Vegeta was like in private, how many of the rumours were true, what had actually happened in the Wardroom and so on. Gossip from the First Circle reached their level by lengthy and convoluted means, either trickling down through the military ranks or reported by the servants who attended there, but by the time Bulma’s labmates had heard the tale it had been rather embellished. She put to rest conflicting accounts of him flinging himself to his knees to beg for her safety or expressing his insalubrious intent towards her person. She told them as plainly as she could that his interest in her extended only to her abilities in Si’eth’s lab.

“Sorry to disappoint you all,” she shrugged, “but that’s the truth. He’s genuinely got it into his head that the project will fail without me. That’s all it is.”

“So that other thing with you and him in the lab, that never happened?” Questioned one. “They say there was footage.”

“Oh  _ that _ !” Bulma said, affecting an embarrassed laugh to hide her panic. She’d forgotten that part. “Well, you know, it wasn’t really all that much. And no, he didn’t force me to do it, if anything he didn’t seem much into it. He pretty much leaves me alone when he’s home.”

“So he’s never tried to …?”

“Nope.”

“And he gave you your own room?”

“Sort of, it’s just a portable room divider.”

“And he doesn’t expect you to do anything?”

“Just tidy up after myself and stay out of his way. Like I said he only cares about the lab work.” She feigned a disappointed sigh. “Shame, really, I’ve been starting to think he’s a little bit cute.”

She was being facetious, and most of them chuckled along knowingly, but she was not ignorant of the fleeting expressions of disgust and surprise on a few of their faces. They would never see in him what she’d been able to see, and of course they couldn’t because he’d never allow it. She thought about it for a moment, wondering if it was the exclusivity that made his stunted affection attractive to her, after all she’d never been good at sharing people. She couldn’t even handle Yamcha having a fanclub when he got his big baseball break. Shaking her head - and hopefully dislodging that unsettling train of thought - she smiled and rose from the bench.

 

*   *   *

 

As expected Ala’s lab was bustling with the usual activity. The capsules had been fully converted to operate effectively with the Cold Empire’s technology and now the lab was designing the prototypes for a capsule factory. The project had been approved before she’d moved labs but they hadn’t started it yet, and to see them developing her family’s signature technology without her gave a small sting of resentment. Even so she wanted to jump in and see what they were making, but resisted. She stepped into the lab determinedly.

“Bulma?” She was greeted with surprise by the nearest workers and smiled in response.

“Hey guys, what’s up?” She said, surveying the room and spying Ala watching her unreadably from a far corner. They nodded a slight greeting to each other. “My lab is out today, thought I’d see what you lot have done with my capsules.”

There was a subsequent back and forth, as Bulma bantered with her former labmates, all the while purposefully leaving her mind open and vulnerable to Ala.

_ Why are you really here?  _ The expected question arrived eventually as Bulma made a show of socializing with her former comrades.

_ To see you.  _ Bulma didn’t try to hide anything now, in fact having now seen the depth of Ala’s emotions in their last discussion she felt calm and humbled. She’d always assumed that Ala’s feelings were shallow because she didn’t express herself the way Bulma did, but having finally forced her to lose her composure she now realised how deeply Ala’s feelings ran, and what an iron will she must have to control them the way she did. She felt the swell of surprise as Ala perceived all of this and waited patiently for her to respond.

_ It’s a relief to see you here.  _ She admitted.  _ I didn’t think I’d see you so soon, I couldn’t bring myself to approach you. _

_ That’s understandable. I was a bit of a dick and you were grieving. _

_ What she did was unacceptable, but I can never entirely uncouple my feelings for a person from what I have to do. Only enough to perform my duties, never enough to do so without pain. _

_ Can we talk alone, today? _

_ The lab breaks for lunch in a few minutes. _ Ala moved around the lab nonchalantly, touching the equipment absentmindedly as she did.  _ But of course you know that, you’ve timed your visit effectively. _

Bulma just smiled her admittance and waited for the clock to chime.

 

*   *   *

 

“So.” Bulma said out loud after the last person had left. “I probably should start with an apology, huh?”

“That depends on what you think you need to apologise for.” Ala responded cautiously.

“What don’t I need to apologise for? I’ve never taken any of this seriously enough, even when you offered me what I wanted.”

Ala smiled.  _ Even now you come close to putting us in danger with your unguarded speech. A determined eavesdropper could interpret your words to our disadvantage. _

_ You don’t seem angry. _

_ I was, very. I probably still would be if you hadn’t come here today. Somehow seeing you makes it harder to be furious with you. _

It was Bulma’s turn to smile.  _ I’ve always gotten away with more than I should. I think from here on out it’s time to be honest though. _

_ In what regard? _

Bulma took a deep breath, and opened her mind. She didn’t attempt to verbalise any of her feelings but instead reached out and enveloped Ala in her consciousness. Every thought, feeling and hope that she’d tried to hide from Ala was now opened to her, and as she laid her soul bare to Ala she also inadvertently did so to herself. Her feelings could be denied no longer.

She didn’t want to leave without Vegeta.

Ala took a long time to absorb all of this, making sure as she did so to separate her own thoughts fastidiously so that Bulma, while feeling her presence in her mind and memories, was not immediately privy to Ala’s reaction to them. After a few minutes, and possibly motivated by Bulma beginning to feel an anxiousness creeping up on her, Ala took her hand gently, jolting them both back into the real world.

_ So you are in love with him then. _

_ Sort of. _ Bulma admitted, still not comfortable with the word.  _ Getting there I think. Love is maybe too strong a word, but I care about him a lot, and I’m convinced he cares about me too. _

_ Yes, I can see that. _ She pressed Bulma’s hand thoughtfully.  _ Had you told me this rather than shown me I don’t think I’d have believed you. And yet this doesn’t reconcile with what I know about him at all. He’s murdered so many resistance fighters. _

_ Well yeah, but even though he’s on the front lines doing the dirty work that doesn’t change the fact that our work here ends in death and horror too. I’m not arguing that he’s blameless, but it’s not like any of us can stop Freeza’s empire from using our skills to destroy. My work in this laboratory is going to help soldiers transport weapons that they’re going to use to kill innocent people, and my scouter project is going to mean slave soldiers in this army will get forced cyber-augmentation, which on its own would be bad enough before they use my inventions to kill even more people. None of that was my choice, and even if I’m a step removed from the actual killing, I’m still a part of this machine. He follows orders because he doesn’t know how to do anything else, we all do. If I’m not following Si’eth’s or his orders, I’m following yours. And you answer to your council. _

_ I do answer to the council, and believe me when I tell you that Vegeta’s reputation as a rebel-killer is well beyond the limits of what you have imagined. That may be my fault, I’ve never shown you the full extent of his record, and knowing now how you feel about him I am reluctant to. He hasn’t just murdered rebels in the course of his duties, he’s actively sought us out. He distaste for the resistance is beyond that of the average loyal Freeza soldier. _

_ I’ve noticed that. _ Bulma admitted.  _ When the subject of the resistance comes up he gets all ...dark. I think he blames them for what happened to his face. _

_ And my people in turn will never be able to forgive him for the lives he has personally taken. It is a hopeless dilemma, you see. _

_ He can change.  _ Bulma asserted firmly.  _ He’s capable of it, I know it. He just needs something to fight for. Up to now he’s only been fighting for pride, or revenge or just because he was told to. And I  _ know _ he has no love for Freeza’s empire either. _

_ Let me think on this. I've known for a long time that you were developing an attachment to him, but I had hoped it was shallower than this. It is imperative that my agents are able to put their duty before everything else, no matter what. I can’t afford to give you the order to leave only to have you unable to detach yourself from him. _

_ I understand. But think, Ala, you’ve seen him fight. Now imagine if he was fighting on our side, and because he  _ wanted _ to, not because he was forced to? _

Ala did think about it, and Bulma was able to see for just an unguarded second Ala’s unfiltered response. The thought of Vegeta putting his bloodied hands to  _ her _ grindstone, enacting her revenge against the murderers she’d fought her entire life, it mixed with her underlying rage and lit an ugly fire of longing within the woman, a fire that she quickly squashed in self-disgust.

“That path leads to only darkness and self-destruction.” She said out loud, sighing deeply to calm herself.  _ If I lose myself to vengeance and hate then I’ll be as bad as Freeza himself. _

Bulma waited patiently, unsure of what to say. More than anything she was simply grateful that this meeting had gone so well. With only Ala’s initial coldness to overcome, it was like they’d never quarrelled at all, but then she’d also not expected to find Ala so weary. Both emotionally and physically the woman was drawn thin, and Bulma further regretted her previous lack of compassion.

_ I must ask you for more time to consider this. I can’t ask advice from my contacts, they’ll be too quick to deem you as compromised. If in the meantime you can convince me that he could be converted without endangering our operation, well then I will put it to the council. I had only ever envisioned you utilising him clandestinely, but to have him as an agent? This ...intrigues me. _

Bulma nodded to say she understood, and she felt Ala withdraw her mind to a degree, what she would call ‘breathing room’.

“So how about we get some lunch, huh?” She suggested.

“That would be wise. And after that would you care to join us for the afternoon?”

Bulma laughed. “The guys warned me you’d try to rope me into work. Sure, why not. We can do some real work too, while we’re at it.”

Making a shushing gesture with one hand but failing to hide a smile, Ala followed Bulma from the lab.

 

* * *

 

 

Vegeta was troubled. He moved robotically through the motions of his lab checks, barely absorbing the information as it was given to him by the overseers. He had reports yet to write and the overseers had requests that needed approving, projects that needed stamping and disputes to be resolved, but all he could think about was Zarbon last night and his run-in this morning. Two very different interactions to be sure, but still he found them equally disturbing. Zarbon’s contribution to his unease was easily quantifiable, but what bothered him about the encounter on the way to the mess that morning was less clear cut. He’d only just managed to reach the point where he felt comfortable privately calling her his woman, but to have someone he didn’t know blatantly call her that to his face, it made him extremely uncomfortable. No matter how he turned the thought in his head he couldn’t get it to resolve into sense, and meanwhile his day drifted by in a haze as he made his way from lab to lab.

He wondered what Bulma was doing. Again he found himself frustrated that he couldn’t detect where she was on base, as she didn’t carry a scouter and had an insignificant power level. He made a mental note to do something about that later.

His working day seemed to last forever, and he rushed his dinner, avoiding more than usual any contact with his fellow officers. He hadn’t spoken to Bulma the entire day and he had some hope that her idle chatter would ease his mind, but when he returned to his rooms she was in absentia, as he had half-expected. Not knowing what else to do, having never thought to equip his room with adequate leisure facilities, he headed to his washroom for a shower.

She returned not long after he’d first bowed his head under the steaming torrent, his scouter alerting him to her entrance, and she wasted no time in seeking him out. Despite their previous arrangements he still felt unaccountably exposed as she smiled at his naked form through the glass casement of the shower.

“Hey, I’m back.” She informed him somewhat redundantly.

“I can see.”

“Didn’t you shower already this morning?” She queried, coming fully into the bathroom and shutting the door.

“I did, what of it?”

“Nothing, just didn’t think you’d get dirty so quick.”

“I’m not dirty.” He growled at her. “I just ...felt like having a shower. And will you stop staring? Better yet, go do something else.”

“Calm down.” She laughed infuriatingly. “I’ve seen it all before. And besides, you don’t have much to do here, do you?”

“Hmph.” He snorted. Aggravating as she was, he had been correct that her prattle would distract him. Unfortunately she had only replaced one kind of nebulous discomfort with another and so he turned his back to her.

“Is this where your tail was?”

He jumped, startled. She had opened the shower door and lightly prodded the scar on his back that had, as she’d surmised, once been the base of his tail. Her sleeves and tunic were splashed with shower water.

“Do you  _ mind _ ?!” He hissed, annoyed that she’d managed to sneak up on him.

“Not at all.” She grinned rakishly, beginning to unfasten her clothing. “In fact, I was thinking about joining you.”

He didn’t understand at all.

“Can’t you just wait?” He asked, a little annoyed. If she was that desperate to clean herself it would be far more efficient to wait until he was finished and she could have the space to herself.

“I don’t think you’ve quite understood, your highness.” She smiled, teasingly. “Allow me to enlighten you.”

 

*   *   *

 

Later that evening, as they were drying themselves in the living area, Vegeta found himself marvelling at her innovative approach to the misuse of domestic facilities. He looked with slight suspicion at the couch, desk and other sparse furnishings of his apartment, considering the possibilities and making himself blush as he did so. On the upside, he was tremendously more relaxed.

“That was pretty good, you know.” She praised him from her lounging position on the sofa. She had a leg dangling over the arm like a vagrant. “Shower sex isn’t for beginners.”

He didn’t reply, but silently agreed. His strongest memory of the encounter would be of the weird duality of wet skin, namely how it slipped when you wanted to grip and vice versa. Instead he tried to turn the conversation to less blush-worthy topics.

“Where were you today?” He asked.

“Oh, I went to see Ala.” She replied airily.

“Ala? As in your former overseer?”

“One and the same…” She stretched, putting him in mind of a satisfied cat.

“I inspected that lab this morning, I didn’t see you there.”

“That’s ‘cuz I was only there this afternoon. I wasted the morning in the canteen with my lab guys.”

“What were you doing in Ala’s lab?”

“Just, you know, catching up, seeing what she was doing to my capsules, shooting the breeze. Social stuff. Then I was helping her out with a few things, while I was there.”

“So on your rest day, you chose ...to work?” He asked her, perplexed. “And not for your current lab, but for one whose output you’re no longer responsible for?”

“There wasn’t much else to do.” She shrugged. “What do you do on your days off?”

“Well I…” He thought about it. He wrote and read reports, sometimes he trained. He had on occasion taken a walk around the compound. Before his upgrade he would quite often be in Si’eth’s lab, having his old scouter tinkered with.

“I thought as much.” She groaned happily and began to lever herself off of the sofa. “Is it bedtime yet?”

“That depends.” He replied, narrowing his eye at her.

“On?”

“What you mean by ‘bedtime’.”

She didn’t reply, but she did smile coquettishly, and to his continued surprise he had to stop himself smiling back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's stuck with this. There was a significantly longer wait than usual this time, which can be accounted for by the healthy birth of my beautiful daughter, to whom I dedicate this chapter. My life, like my ruined fun-factory, is changed forever and I'm loving motherhood. Just wish I could get more time for writing, haha!


	20. Repeat

_ Nappa was not best pleased with his assignment. He didn’t like the ship or its occupants any more than the young prince but he had his orders from the king and was trying to abide by them. Vegeta found the soldiers at best very dull and at worst downright disrespectful. More than once Nappa had to step in when Vegeta was goaded into fighting in the mess. The boy had already put a Freeza soldier in the infirmary and sharp words like “discipline” and “flagrant lack of” had been barked at him by Freeza’s enforcers. He tried to make the prince understand that there were officers on this ship who could easily best his own royal father, but the implication that he might receive corporal punishment was met as a challenge.  _

_ Nappa sighed into his beer. At least Radditz wasn’t giving him any trouble. That one was more interested in his food than in defending his pride. _

_ “I can’t believe this. It’s been four nights already, when do we get to fight?” The prince demanded for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. _

_ “As I told you, your highness,” he replied through gritted teeth, “we have to reach the base before we can be assigned. Then we’ll probably join an established unit as you two are still fresh.” _

_ “This is stupid!” _

_ Nappa had tried to explain to the boy when they’d first boarded that this wouldn’t match his childish idea of popping off into space for a couple days of adventure then returning home to his pampered life in the palace but that only seemed to make him more unreasonable. Nappa was grateful that the king had decided to send a companion with them, even moreso that said companion was a simple boy like Radditz. At first he’d had concerns about choosing a third class soldier’s brat to accompany a crown prince, but they were well suited it turned out. Radditz was tractable and easily distracted, and adapted much better to this new environment. Besides, it turned out that they had a brief history as playmates that meant the boy’s selection was about the only part of the arrangement young Vegeta hadn’t complained about.  _

_ Still, Nappa grumbled to himself, both boys could have been solid gold angels and it still wouldn’t have made his sudden appointment as royal babysitter any less humiliating. His king had tried to frame this as an honour, that he was selected due to his strength and valour as the protector of their most precious prince, but he felt reduced by it. He was not a glorified nursery maid. He frowned and tipped back his drink. The king was too enamoured with the boy’s mother; it was her bodyguard he should have sent, not Nappa. _

_ But he could make the best of it. At least he could get off planet for a little while and not have to watch the deterioration of the royal house first hand. King Vegeta was fast beginning to fear even his own shadow, and some of the men were beginning to see it. _

_ “Nappa, I’m thirsty!” Prince Vegeta exclaimed, clearly incensed that Nappa had not predicted his needs in advance. He sighed again and reached across the table to the water jug. _

 

* * *

 

 

They were being openly laughed at. Vegeta kept trying to hush the woman, to extract his hand from hers, avoid her occasional kiss but to no avail. It was like he couldn’t control his limbs anymore. When he opened his mouth to speak it was too dry and the words died in his throat.

She chattered loudly and blindly about matters he considered deeply private, and the officers that passed them sniggered unrestrainedly. Occasionally she would laugh loudly, but it wasn’t her usual laugh, it was the raucous laugh he’d come to associate with professional whores.

“Bulma enough.” He eventually managed to croak. She clearly didn’t hear him, or was pretending not to. He suspected the latter.

The corridor was going in circles, he realised. He’d passed this room three times already. There was nowhere on base with that kind of geography, and as he looked up he saw what he first took to be his reflection, until he realised it was he and Bulma from behind, walking ahead of them. He was trying to make sense of this with a mind that felt completely fogged when his consciousness was pulled in another direction. There was some new sensation, and he opened his eyes groggily to investigate, existing simultaneously for a moment both in this horrific corridor walk and his own darkened bedroom, until finally he could put the pieces together enough to rouse himself awake.

The sensation had been that of Bulma rolling in her sleep and flinging a careless arm across his chest. He blinked a few times, trying to dispel the uncomfortable dream from his psyche. She fidgeted, clearly not satisfied with this new position. With a frown he removed her arm and placed it firmly back on her side of the bed.

He didn’t recall any further dreams that night.

 

* * *

 

 

Bulma was perplexed that morning. She didn’t know what had changed between the evening and now, but Vegeta was being weird. Well, she amended, weirder than usual anyway. Distracted and vague, he barely answered her as he moved robotically through his morning routine. The weirdest part was, seeing that they happened to be ready at the same time, she invited him to leave the room with her. He balked at that, telling her she was to go ahead and that he would wait a few minutes before he left.

“Oh are you not ready yet? That’s cool, I can wait.”

“No!” He said a little sharply. “I’m just - you need to leave first.”

She did, trying to shrug nonchalantly, but truthfully a little worried about him. Oh well, she thought to herself as she meandered towards the breakfast hall, she’d deal with him later. In the meantime she had a lot to figure out.

She and Ala had not been idle during their time in the lab. Progress on the shuttle had been swift and Ala estimated it would soon be more than space-worthy. This had rattled Bulma a little, not having expected to be faced with the prospect of escape so soon, but as Ala pointed out they’d been working on this solidly, and with a team of highly motivated, hand-picked rebels.

Finding the time or privacy to work on her own part was the tricky issue. All Freeza ships were linked to a central communication system that tracked all ships at all times. Captains could program a route and set off immediately without approval needed but the central computers always knew where they were and where they were going. It was the one thing Ala’s scientists hadn’t been able to get around.

At first she’d assumed there would be some kind of tracking device within the ship that could be easily removed, but to her dismay she found that the tracking system was deeply embedded into the navigation systems themselves, making it impossible to have one without the other. Setting a course would trigger the shuttle’s computer to file a report to base, and manual flight would send updated coordinates back every thirty seconds. Bulma concluded that the only way around this would be to remove the navigation system entirely and replace it with one they’d built from scratch, but this had also been a dead end. Without the shuttle submitting its destination upon exit the force fields that surrounded the base would never allow it through and they’d be disintegrated before they even made it to open space.

She’d been working on the problem on and off since first being introduced to it in the hangar, but had repeatedly come up against barriers. Now though, with new-found vigour and Ala’s support, she felt ready to tackle it. She knew there was some simple solution, something she just hadn’t thought of yet, and all she had to do was find it, and now that Ala had finally managed to put together a system back-door for her that she could access through Vegeta’s terminal she had no excuse.

It was complicated to reach, as she’d expected all things considered, but when logged in to Vegeta’s high-clearance terminal she could navigate a convoluted route through the database to a completely private virtual space that Ala had created for her to work in. There she could access and edit blueprints, create and save important work and ghost unseen through any department she needed to. This last part she suspected would hold the answer for her, as lack of knowledge on how the system specifically worked had hampered her efforts up to now.

Until then her day-job awaited. She sighed, and entered the laboratory.

 

* * *

 

 

The dream wouldn’t leave him. The specifics of it faded quickly from his memory as dreams are wont to do but the sense of unease and especially the feelings of resentment towards Bulma refused to dissipate. Logically he knew that she had nothing to do with his brain’s fevered nightmare but he began to equate the caricature of her behaviour in his dream to her real-life equivalent. He was becoming increasingly angry with her even in her absence, finding fault with every tiny act of disrespect in his memory, unconsciously performed or otherwise.

She wanted to walk out together to breakfast. Was she mad? She had no business being seen with him in public, and the very fact that she didn’t realise that infuriated him.

A few of the higher ranking officers greeted him in the mess, smiling or smirking he couldn’t tell, but he avoided them entirely. It baffled him that they seemed to think his situation gave them any grounds to address him, or any desire for that matter. If they intended mockery then he found the subtlety of it beyond his understanding, and yet he was made too uncomfortable by their gentle nods and quirked eyebrows to think it could be anything else.

Damn that woman, he thought, stabbing his breakfast spitefully. She would be the death of him. He would get her lab out of the way first.

He completed his morning meal, still not quite used to the return of his old appetite but perfectly ready to indulge it, and stalked out of the officers’ mess before any numbskull tried to speak to him. 

As usual Si’eth’s staff were the perfect model of efficiency. Every person knew their task and went about their business with calm competence. It was one of the things he’d always liked about this lab. He found it soothing, like watching a calm stream flowing smoothly on its course. When Bulma had first arrived here it had been like someone had dropped a large rock in that stream, and while the majority flowed valiantly around it anything that touched her caused a splash, so to speak. That seemed to be what she did, she couldn’t touch anything without changing it irreparably. He raised a hand to his scouter self-consciously.

At first he’d thought her absent and was debating on how he could enquire about that without appearing too interested when she emerged from the theatre with her arms full of lab equipment. She smiled at him and he frowned in return. Too familiar, he thought, too public.

“Director Vegeta.” Si’eth greeted him respectfully, as always. No matter how Vegeta had last spoken to him, or what mood the young doctor was in, Vegeta always received uniform respect in his address. There was never a variation in his attitude. Why couldn’t Bulma follow his example?

“Overseer.” He responded, inclining his head ever so slightly. “Have you had much progress on yesterday’s issues?”

“Yes, however…” began Si’eth’s usual preamble. It was always two steps forward and one step back, with every solution leading to the next patch of bugs to deal with. Vegeta paced the lab while listening patiently to Si’eth’s report. They were trying to streamline the function mapping in preparation for the large scale roll-out. There had been a suggestion that soldiers might usefully map their own functions if they could craft a simple enough system for doing so, but there were compatibility issues and so on and so on.

Truthfully he found the new project distasteful. The soldiers who would be selected for this cyber augmentation wouldn’t be given a choice in the matter, and it would likely lead to some accidental deaths as they ironed out the bugs. Vegeta had been lucky that his brain surgery had gone so well; those species whose physiologies were less well understood by Freeza’s scientists might not fare so well.

“...and of course there is the matter of neurotransmitter interference. We’re still working on insulating the signals so that users can’t accidentally or otherwise utilize someone else’s scouter-”

“Well, actually we had a plan for that if you remember.” 

Si’eth turned somewhat ashen-faced as Bulma, clearly oblivious to Vegeta’s warning glare, blithely interrupted Si’eth’s report.

“For starters we make the range on the transmitters extremely limited, and then if by chance two users are too close together we have the outbound signal uniquely encrypted so it can only be read by the correct receiver.” She smiled, casually depositing her equipment on a counter. “Job done, easy peasy.”

“Si’eth, are you often in the habit of allowing your subordinates to talk over you?” Vegeta snapped coldly. “Since when has discipline in your laboratory been so lax?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realise there was an issue-”

“Well there is. You will bring your staff back under order and never again do I expect to observe such disrespect in my presence, am I understood? And you,” Vegeta turned his glare onto Bulma as Si’eth nodded emphatically. He almost faltered on seeing her face turning red with emotion. “Consider yourself on a formal warning, woman.”

He didn’t wait to see her reaction but instead purposely turned his back on her. Si’eth continued with his report and Vegeta listened intently, ignoring her completely.

 

* * *

 

 

None of her colleagues mentioned her slap-down after the director had left. It was a small mercy, because honestly Bulma felt like she might cry if pressed, and public tears would be more than she could take on top of Vegeta’s humiliating reprimand. 

What had gotten into him? More to the point, who the hell did he think he was to talk to her like that in the first place? Sure she’d been a teensy bit inappropriate but nothing out of the ordinary for her. Something had changed for him to snap at her like that in public, but she knew in her heart that she was too petulantly angry to try to find out what that was. She debated not going back to the rooms after work and waiting until he was most likely asleep, but trying to make him worried about her wasn’t worth putting herself in actual danger. She’d been warned about, and had first hand experience of, the unpleasant types who populated the communal areas of the compound.

He hadn’t spoken to her for the rest of the visit, choosing to interact solely with Si’eth. She glared a hole into the back of his head the whole time. Eventually he took his leave of Si’eth, turning only briefly to catch her eye as she left. It was her intention that he leave with an accurate impression of her fury and she channelled that into the look she gave him, but she disguised her hurt.

Her face burned as she replayed the encounter in her head throughout the day. Even by the evening meal she hadn’t recovered, but by that point she’d made a point of throwing herself fully into the conversations around her as a distraction. They finished their food and she considered joining a few of them in the recreation rooms but she had other obligations. With a sigh she headed back to her rooms.

As expected his royal highness was not at home; Bulma had it on good information from other denizens of the canteen that Vegeta had kept an underperforming lab behind that evening to personally expedite their work, and by her estimation so long as he still went to the officers’ mess for dinner afterwards she’d have maybe an hour alone in the room with Vegeta’s high-clearance terminal. She’d promised Ala on their last meeting that she’d take the next opportunity to get to work. With another sigh she took a seat and spread her hands over the control panel.

 

* * *

 

 

“One more.” Vegeta barked into the intercom. The assistant obediently loaded another Saibaman cartridge and injected it into the test chamber. As reported by the lab’s overseer they had indeed become more potent since he’d last tested them, but they were still having issues with their stability. Not only did they ignore orders and attack staff, they were prone to spontaneous combustion and deformities. One Saibaman germinated without a head and promptly keeled over, another disintegrated into a gelatinous goo the moment it attempted to move its muscles. He watched closely as this one began to form, seeing its claws and evil little eyes growing from nothing. Then he waited, and allowed it to attack.

“Stand down.” He ordered though without much expectation. The nasty little creature ignored him and was summarily dispatched. He wiped his gloved hand on the chamber wall, leaving a smear of blood.

“Note down that batch number.” He demanded. “Put three more in. Let’s see how they behave in numbers.”

It was clear the lab was struggling due to a lack of acceptable testing conditions, most notably the fact they were forced to order an extermination team any time they wanted to test the little blighters, and they were getting too dangerous for the common soldier to handle. For the moment they were getting invaluable data as he calmly ripped through their stocks of Saibamen, but if he were honest with himself he’d have to admit that wasn’t the reason he was here, though it was certainly convenient.

Three more came to life, snarling and snapping at him and at each other. He curled his lip in disgust.

“Stand down.” He ordered again. One did, but the other two leapt to attack. He blasted one with concentrated energy and smoothly snapped the neck of the other. The third tried to take a step back but it fell quite literally to pieces. Vegeta put it out of its misery.

“So you can make them obey at the expense of their physical stability?” He scoffed.

“It would appear that way, Director.”

“How many left?”

“Four from the batch that held together, nine from the one that collapsed, then twelve batches left untested.”

“How many batches have we gone through?”

“Five, sir.” The assistant replied calmly. “Ten units per batch.”

Fifty-seven Saibamen, he realised, counting quickly in his head. He’d killed fifty-seven Saibamen and it hadn’t done the slightest thing to ease his foul mood.

“Release those four, put the other nine back in storage.” He snapped. “We’ll end with this test.”

 

*   *   *

 

Nothing, he thought furiously. Two hours spent destroying Saibamen, half the lab kept behind to collate data and catch up with weeks of lax testing and it had done nothing to distract him from the sick weight in his stomach, or the tension that had been building around his temples. All he could think about was his altercation with Bulma.

He’d rearranged his inspections that day to put the Saibamen lab last, intending to work off some of his own frustration in the testing chamber, but the exercise was once again not equal to the task. Even when faced with four of the aggressive little bastards at once the most they’d managed to do was make him take a single step sideways. He briefly considered the gym but the recollection of his last outing there dissuaded him. There was nothing for it, he would dine and then retire. If she was there it wouldn’t signify because, as he had every intention of telling her, he’d done nothing wrong. She was the one who couldn’t be trusted in public, not him, and if she felt hard done by then maybe next time she’d know to hold her tongue.

How was it, he pondered over his dinner, that she could never properly gauge a situation and always behaved so inappropriately? He thought he’d made it clear that their predicament required more public decorum, not less, if they were to survive. At any rate he’d certainly made the point to her labmates, who by now should be buzzing about like good little drones telling anyone who cared to listen that Prince Vegeta gave his slave a public dressing down for speaking out of turn.

It didn’t erase the memory of the hurt in her eyes.

He didn’t linger in the officers’ mess, but didn’t hurry back either, taking a circuitous route back to his apartment. He found himself stopping on one of the upper-storey corridor tunnels that connected the two halves of the first circle. These corridors were glass tubes with walkways within them that had often made him feel like he was in an enclosure for some exotic pet, but he sometimes liked to look up through them at the night sky and see the stars. Often he would search for the constellation that used to contain his home planet. He remembered the night that the light from the death of his planet finally reached Planet Cold, years after it had actually happened. Watching that little dot that signified the explosion flare up then wink out of existence felt like losing his home all over again; that was probably why Freeza had his minions calculate the exact minute that Planet Vegeta’s destruction would be visible from Planet Cold. It was suspiciously impressive that an asteroid impact could have kicked out enough light to reach so far into space. He scowled and walked on.

The occupancy indicator light on his apartment door was very much lit when he arrived there, and he found himself wishing that, much like his planet, it was not. Able to procrastinate any longer, he steeled himself and stepped into his rooms.

Bulma sat calmly at the console desk, purposefully - and obviously - ignoring his entrance. She didn’t turn to greet him, or even acknowledge his presence with an angry expostulation. This, he supposed, he ought to have expected. The woman was proud.

“Well?” He asked her snippily, closing the door behind him firmly.

“Well what,  _ your highness _ ?” She responded just as petulantly. He stalked further into the room.

“Aren’t you going to start hissing and snapping at me?” He flailed his hands in mock imitation of her wild gesticulations during an argument. She didn’t bite. “Come on, I haven’t got all night. I don’t care to be woken in the small hours so that you can unburden your damned mind.”

“I have nothing to say to you right now.” She said, clearly offended.

“You’re a bad liar.” He growled, folding his arms. “What are you doing on my console?”

“None of your business.”

“Like hell it isn’t!” He snapped, suddenly smacking the wall with his fist as he turned to glare at her. “Whatever you do on that thing is traced back to me! Now you may be unconscious of your own good but you are by no means going to drag me down with you! Now tell me this instant what you’re up to!”

Shrugging, and with her nose lifted firmly in the air, she vacated her seat and indicated with one hand that he could see for himself. He peered down at the screen and let out a small noise somewhere between a sigh and a growl.

“You think this is funny?”

“A little bit, yeah.”

“What the hell is that?”

The screen was filled by a long, upright rectangle which contained a series of falling blocks, each consisting of four smaller blocks stacked into varying shapes.

“It’s called Tetris.” Bulma said, still refusing to look at him. “It’s a video game from Earth. I couldn’t bring it with me so I’ve been rebuilding here so I could play it during downtime. It’s a hobby.”

“A hobby?”

“Yeah. You should get one, maybe you’d be less of a gigantic asshole-”

“And there it is!”

“You’re damn right!” She spun to face him finally. “Who do you think you are, talking to me like that in front of Si’eth?”

“You forced my blasted hand, woman. How else was I supposed to behave? The presence of your labmates is  _ why _ I had to talk to you like that. Do you remember nothing that has been discussed in this room?”

“I remember you saying you’d protect me.” Was her retort, and beneath her anger he saw plainly the hurt.

“I  _ was _ protecting you.”

“You were humiliating me!”

“And who saw me do that?

“Everyone! Si’eth, everyone in the lab, Makky and-”

There was a brief silence between them as Bulma put the pieces together, closing her eyes in irritation.

“People gossip, and the hot gossip tonight will be how Director Vegeta yelled at his servant,” she muttered, “making any rumours about us being anything more than what we appear to be in public less credible.”

“Correct. Or that Si’eth can’t control his staff.” He folded his arms again and leaned against the wall, trying to control his own temper even as he watched Bulma wrestle with hers. “Preferably the former.”

“Well you could have given me some warning. At least then I wouldn’t have wasted the whole day thinking of elaborate ways to kill you in your sleep.” He scowled at that but let it pass. "And besides, I'm not Si’eth’s ‘staff’, I'm-"

"You're my personal attendant. And according to the personnel database, into which I assume you’ve already hacked, you are listed as ‘on loan’ to Si’eth’s lab. That means responsibility for your behaviour still devolves onto me. If you step out of line in public and I don’t act on that there will be consequences for both of us. And I didn’t think you needed to be warned of that.”

“Maybe I  _ was _ a little mouthy, but come on, a formal warning?” She shook her head, sighing with exasperation. “You’ve put me a step closer towards being Arena fodder. I don’t wanna be eaten by Gorax monsters or whatever.”

It was true, staff who proved themselves unmanageable were thrown into the Arena as monster bait for the entertainment of the crowds, but a formal warning was a long way from that, as he went on to explain. There was still tension in the air between them but he could feel it easing.

“I guess I can forgive you.” She admitted finally. “But you should know I’m still mad.”

“I would expect nothing less.” Sighed Vegeta. “And perhaps I was a little sharp. I didn’t have time to consider how best to stop you without appearing overly familiar.”

“Well in future I guess I’ll keep out of your way in the lab.”

“That’s for the best.” Although he agreed with her, he felt disappointed in a small way, acutely aware that being on the receiving end of her plucky insubordination was what had drawn him to her in the first place. Looking at her face, he suspected that she felt the same.

“I guess that’s the closest I’m getting to an apology tonight. What now?” Was her next point of conversation. “Can I get on with my project or do you have plans?”

The sofa was looking inviting after his long evening wiping out Saibamen, but in spite of the sanitising procedure he underwent before leaving he didn’t feel clean enough to sit on his own furniture. He pushed himself off the wall and walked towards the bathroom.

“I need a shower - alone, if you please. You can do what you want. Oh and Bulma,” he said, turning at the doorway to give her a piercing glare, “don’t for a second think you have me fooled. I have no doubt that you’re doing something unsanctioned on that machine.”

She opened her mouth to object and he cut her off with a hand-wave.

“I don’t care what it is. Just for Gods’ sakes don’t get caught.”

With that he left her to it.


	21. Fight

 

_ Nappa rubbed his face again with one huge, calloused hand, trying again to think about what he should say. Words had never been his arena, he was a man of action, though these days he was too often called upon to practice diplomacy on behalf of his hot-headed charges. Radditz had grown far too much like Prince Vegeta, and as his royal highness had grown in strength he’d also grown in self-importance, and impudence. _

_ This was the boys' first mission alone together and he wasn’t surprised to find they were late returning. He wouldn’t have cared much more than usual were it not for the fact that Freeza had decreed all Saiyans had to return to Planet Vegeta. There was some noise about him having planned some big feast in time for the Oozaru moon or something, not that it mattered anymore. _

_ To Nappa nothing much mattered now. _

_ The ensigns had told him the prince and his soldier would be landing within the hour. He paced the station restlessly, rubbing his sleep-deprived eyes. How long had it been since he’d slept properly? More than a cycle at least. When he got the news he’d stared straight ahead for fully an hour before heading wordlessly to the soldiers’ mess and drinking himself blind. After that black-out, and the subsequent hangover that he was still recovering from, he’d ghosted from place to place in the compound, waiting for reality to sink in. His mind refused to accept it. Other denizens in the outpost had avoided him the moment the word had gotten around, and understandably. They weren’t on HQ1, and there was far less oversight here for petty squabbles amongst the soldiery. _

_ A brief alarm sounded behind the reception area doors, a noise Nappa recognised from his many experiences of Vegeta and Radditz’s lack of disembarkation etiquette: someone in the docking bay had left their craft before the vehicle had been secured. He sighed, wondering which one of them it was this time, though if he were a betting man he’d guess both. _

_ He had only minutes to try to collect himself, to try to find something to say that wouldn’t be hackneyed. He couldn’t even say if the boys knew already, the communications officer refused to tell him. _

_ The doors slid open and he knew with a certainty that he would not have to break the news at least. The boys, much taller now than when they’d first left home, were silent, staring right through him with hollow eyes. They knew. _

_ Nappa stepped forwards towards his prince, his soul surging with mixed emotion as he saw this miniature embodiment of his beloved king, but as he opened his mouth to say something - anything - he could summon no words. Even a simple greeting died on his tongue. He needn’t have bothered anyway. Barring one brief glance filled with unspeakable pain from Radditz the boys marched right past him. All for the best, he thought. He was in no better position to be a comforter than they were. _

_ He watched the newly orphaned Saiyan boys walk away down the corridor. _

 

* * *

 

Vegeta watched her sleeping for longer than he ought to have done. It may have been her rest day but it was certainly not his and he had plenty to be getting on with. With great reluctance he levered himself from under her carelessly flung limbs and prepared himself for another day of mind numbing tedium.

How long had it been now? Long enough that he was no longer confused when he woke up with her in his arms, or lying across him, or curled up in one corner with the majority of the bedding. Or indeed, as he had the surprise and pleasure to experience that very morning, making use of his body’s unconscious morning readiness. The subtle ways of intimacy had slowly opened up to him over the course of the last couple of months and he found himself sharing his space with her willingly. It was more than just sex, as much he was learning to enjoy and look forward to that part of it. It was the little details, like finding her hair on his clothing and not being disgusted, or listening for her breath as they fell asleep together at night. It was wanting to know what she was doing when he wasn’t with her and, even more unfamiliar to him, caring about how she was feeling.

He noticed things, things that before he wouldn’t have registered on any level at all; social and emotional cues that would have sailed over his head before her were now becoming more obvious to him. As they did he also grew more aware of Bulma’s talent for correctly guessing his repressed desire's and the ways in which she continuously enabled him to do things his pride would otherwise have forbidden. He remembered the first night they had spent in each others’ arms without making love, and how she had understood his needs despite his taciturn dismissal. Nothing was awkward anymore, and when she offered him warmth he was too proud to openly accept he had only to feign a weak resistance that Bulma enjoyed overcoming.

There had been complications of course. Keeping up the public show of indifference to each other was easily done but despite their best efforts it seemed the simple fact of them sharing biology and quarters was enough to keep the rumour mill turning. He still received facetious comments from his fellow officers, but had learnt not to rise to them. It was Bulma who’d taught him that. He passed into the officers’ mess and quickly made his way to what was left of the breakfast.

“Late today, Captain.” Smirked a plucky lieutenant. “Up late, were you?”

Now no longer as oblivious to innuendo, he rolled his eye just as Bulma had advised him and curled his lip disparagingly before moving on. The lieutenant, suitably dismissed, retreated.

He ate quickly, all the time poring over his data tablet to plan how best to catch up with his day’s work. He wasn’t that late, so it was easy enough, his main concern was how to shave off precious minutes that could then be devoted to his free time in the evening, with her.

As he worked on this he was informed by an alert on his scouter that Bulma had left their rooms. He had acquired a tracker from one of his other labs and gotten her to promise to wear it at all times on base. It was disused tech for old scouters and as such had needed tinkering with before it was fit for their purposes, but its incompatibility with other new scouter models made it ideal. Secretly Vegeta believed that the lure of a new gadget to fiddle with was the only reason she’d agreed to wear it, but now he could find her no matter where she was on the compound. They’d been working on adding a panic button too, but that still needed work. In the meantime the tracker, if removed, would alert him so they had that at least as a failsafe.

Currently she was heading towards the canteen. He half-smiled, pushing away his plate and rising to leave; she always left breakfast to the last possible minute on her days off. He tracked her throughout his day, noting when she left a place and where she stopped. Today she was hanging around the research department, specifically Ala’s lab again. He frowned and made a mental to find out more about Bulma’s former overseer and why she seemed so compelled to go there. He wasn’t suspicious exactly, but neither was he convinced by Bulma’s airy assertion that her visits were socially motivated.

His scouter beeped a notification and he glanced at his tablet to see he had a private comm. in his inbox with no sender ID, which he duly opened.

_DAMN THE SECURITY ON THIS COMPOUND IS WEAK-SAUCE. I GUESS WHEN YOU DON’T FEEL THREATENED YOU GET LAZY, HUH?_

Momentarily startled, amused and impressed, he was too slow to stop himself from letting out a stunted chuckle. Happily the overseer of the lab he was inspecting was too smart to appear to notice. He fired back a quick response.

_ARE YOU TRYING TO GET US KILLED? STOP THIS NONSENSE AT ONCE._

As much as he wished she’d curb her antics, he couldn’t help but admire her and her lunatic ways. She was under-challenged, that was the problem, and without something to stimulate her brain she acted out, but this was just looking for trouble now. Private communications were not for personal use, and she knew that. His scouter beeped again.

_I HEAR YA, JUST LETTING YOU KNOW I’M GONNA HANG BACK AT ALA’S LAB THIS EVENING, THERE ARE NEW TOYS HERE. I’LL SEE YOU IN OUR ROOM LATER, OK? DON’T GO TO BED WITHOUT ME, I WON’T BE LATE._

He shook his head and, putting his tablet down, tried to look attentive to his work.

 

* * *

 

 

_ That was silly.  _ Ala admonished her gently.  _ What if you’re caught? _

_ I won’t be. _ Bulma replied confidently.  _ But you’re right, it was probably a dumb thing to do. I’ve erased it anyway, and I cleaned up my fingerprints, so unless someone caught it in the last five minutes I’m safe. _

Ala sighed audibly and Bulma had to hide a smile. Surrounded on all sides by her former labmates, she couldn’t express herself overtly, but it was still fun to tease Ala just a little. It helped to pass the time.

They were so close. The shuttle was ready to fly, the shields and upgraded propulsion engines were operational and the new power cells installed, they’d even stocked it with exactly enough rations. The only thing left to worry about was Bulma’s contribution.

It wasn’t that it was hard to do precisely, a ship that was unconnected to Freeza’s fleet was easily cloaked, it turned out. Her job was not to make the ship invisible, as no-one was ever looking for space ships with their eyes, nor was she worried about hiding it from the sensors of Freeza’s ships. There were signals that a ship gave out that needed to be masked by other white noise, but that technology was already operational across the Resistance. It was the ship’s data she needed to cloak, not the ship. Or at least that’s what they’d originally thought.

Ala had told Bulma, in those early days, that it was her ability to see a problem from different angles and find approaches none of her other allies could that made her valuable, and her solution was characteristic of this depiction: don’t bother.

_ We don’t need to hide the launch data. _

_ I’m sorry, I don’t have the pleasure of understanding you.  _ Was Ala’s incredulous response at the time.  _ What are you saying? _

_ Well we can disable the physical tracking mechanisms easily enough, and after that they’re only using our launch data to track us, so let them have it. _

_ I don’t think you’ve quite grasped the- _

_ No listen, we set coordinates at launch, concentrate on getting the hell off-planet and then once we’re in space we manually override the navigation and get the hell out of dodge. Better yet, keep the trackers and jettison them in the opposite direction. That’ll keep ‘em busy. _

_ Bulma you know the shuttles are self-captained, and coordinates can only be set at launch. _

_ Yeah, that seems like an obvious flaw. That’s why we’re gonna totally remove the automated systems and replace it with our own cockpit. And we’ll build it ourselves. _

Ala was stunned for a moment.

_ We keep the old command station on board and wired up, but we have a totally different navigation system wired and ready to go. As soon as we’re clear of HQ1 sensors we switch our console on, rip that old CPU out, slap rockets to it - and the damn trackers - and go our separate ways. It’ll cost us a little oxygen from the airlock but it’s the simplest solution. _

And so that’s what they did. Bulma would work in Ala’s lab on her rest days and at nights often she would assist in the hangar. It wasn’t as straightforward as it might seem to rip out a ship’s computer and install a new one, especially when the old one still had a final job to do, but she was before anything else an engineer, and no matter how good she was at hacking systems and software there was no-one like her where mechanics were concerned. That was probably why, she told Ala one evening, she’d seen a physical solution first.

_ Are all humans like you? _ Ala had asked her fondly.

_ What, beautiful and innovative geniuses? _

_ No, maniacs. _

Bulma thought about the question before shrugging:  _ Pretty much _ .

On paper everything looked good to go, but what troubled her was how untestable it was. There were no simulations she could run for this. Most other issues could be tested for in the safety of Resistance bases and issues reported back and fixed. There was no way to test this stupid, stupid plan, and it made her nervous.

But there was nothing for it. And Ala’s attempts at conciliatory reassurance were not comforting; in the likely event of their capture Bulma was assured that Ala would kill her before the torturers could get their hands on her.

_ I beg your pardon?! _

_ Well do you want to die quickly and painlessly or be tortured for weeks before finally being tossed into the Arena to get eaten by Amaxian spiders? _

_ Well could you be less casual about your plans to murder me?!  _ Bulma had been less than thrilled with the information.  _ Anyway, I thought you said you couldn’t do that psychic brain death thing to me? Have you been fishing in my brain looking for the off switch? _

_ Don’t be silly, I would never do that. _

_ Good, because we had that long conversation about mutual respect and- _

_ I’ll just shoot you. _

There had been silence between them for a moment, in which Bulma could sense Ala trying not to laugh.

_ In the head of course. You won’t feel a thing. _

_ You’re joking, aren’t you? Right? _

_ Mostly. _

Even if Ala had been partly teasing her that didn’t make the rest of the evening less awkward, although it was true; she’d rather take a laser blast to the frontal cortex than spend a single cycle in Freeza’s ‘Counter-Intelligence’ department. She’d heard what went on down there.

“There it goes.” Commented one of Ala’s staff as the chime for the end of the day sounded.

“Yup, let’s pack up.” Agreed another. But Bulma dawdled, waiting for her former colleagues to vacate the lab. Shortly, only she and Ala remained. She looked up at her former overseer, resistance commander and friend.

“I’m worried, Ala.”

“I know. I can feel it.” She sighed and leaned against the countertop. “But there’s nothing else I can do.”  _ The plan has major flaws, but we have to work with what we have. I believe it can be achieved, we just need the right window. My agents in maintenance and admin are working on that right now. _

_ Will it be in the middle of the night? _

_ Possibly, although there’s an argument to be made for launching during a busier period. The hope is to make it appear to be a malfunction, and there’s an asteroid belt on the way, the CPU debris might convince them our ship has wrecked in it. That was a stroke of genius on your part, to jettison that. _

Bulma nodded her acknowledgement of the compliment.

_ What about my other idea? _

Ala stood a little straighter and looked in a different direction.  _ What do you mean? _

_ Come on, you know what I’m talking about: Vegeta. Have you decided to let me try? _

_ Not yet.  _ She admitted.  _ I need more time to consider this. _

_ You said that last week _

_ Yes I know, and the week before that.  _ Ala picked up a piece of paper and began to twist it idly between her long fingers.  _ It’s not that I don’t want to, what you’ve shown me from your recent memory has been very encouraging, but I’ve yet to see anything that I could use to convince the council. _

_ I’m worried about what will happen to him if they connect me to the Resistance when we escape. _

_ I know, I know. We’ve covered this. _

_ He could be an incredible asset. _

_ I know! And these days I’m more inclined to agree with you than ever, but right now he’s in the privileged position of being one of the few personally named enemies of the Resistance. _

_ What more can I do to convince them, then? _

Ala pursed her lips thoughtfully.  _ If you can show him to be sympathetic to our cause, and not just to you, that might tip the scales. But I’m not hopeful, Bulma. _

_ I don’t want to leave him. _

_ And I don’t want to force you, but we’ve sacrificed so much to get this far. _

There was silence between them again, both physically and mentally. This was the one subject they’d both refused to canvass, i.e. what Ala would do if, when push came to shove, Bulma refused to leave without Vegeta. Bulma knew that Ala was torn, but was sure that the Resistance’s needs would win out. She hadn’t said it directly to Bulma of course, but she felt it was a safe bet that she’d be knocked out cold and dragged on to that shuttle if she tried to back out. Or straight up murdered. She’d by necessity been introduced to some of the other rebel agents on the base and from their conversation she had concluded that the Resistance did not pull their punches.

So she would go willingly, but she had thoughts of her own about how quietly. It seemed to her that, when the time came, she could just as easily bring him without the council’s permission as with it. If she managed to convince him to run away with her, and they by some miracle made it off planet and to the safe zone, what were they going to do about it? They’d have to be total morons not to want him on their side.

_ Keep working on him. _ Ala concluded.  _ I won’t say “never”. _

Bulma sighed. That was the best she was going to get from Ala this evening.

“Are you coming to dinner?” Ala asked her out loud.

“Not yet, I’m gonna polish off this last bit.” She said, holding up the piece of the new navigation hardware that she was soldering together. “I know it’s just bell and whistles now, but this should help iron out that little problem with the circuit-board overload.”

“Alright, but don’t be too late. You need to eat.”

“Sure, sure.” Bulma smiled, waving her off. “I’ll see you there.”

 

* * *

 

 

Vegeta had been less than conscientious throughout his work day and was reading through the evening reports trying to fill in the blanks on what he’d missed. He should have been so angry with himself for daydreaming when he ought to have been paying attention to the overseers but for some reason the most he could manage was a mild frustration, quickly supplanted by thoughts of Bulma. He’d been more than usually focused on her today, which he put down to her novel method of waking him up that morning.

He blushed furiously and tried to look busy with his food.

She’d been fast asleep when he left her, smiling with the satisfied expression that he’d come to savour. In that department at least he was able to give himself the credit of swift improvement. Her lessons were concise and comprehensive and he found every time they coupled he was more confident and accomplished than before. He delighted in finding new ways to please her without being shown how, gloried in it even. She would retaliate of course, and it was a competition mutually enjoyed. He was fascinated by the way she made this seemingly gross, animalistic pursuit feel so transcendent.

He touched his scouter idly, checking her location for maybe the hundredth time that day. She was still in the capsule lab.

I wonder, he thought to himself, if she’s going to make it to dinner. Perhaps he ought to take her something. It occurred to him that she could probably hack the lab security, and if not there was much enjoyment to be found in subtly teasing each other in public, and the release of tension when they attained the privacy of their apartment was not to be described. On his way out he would drop a few credits on some take-out, and see where the evening ended up.

Smirking to himself, he finished his meal.

 

* * *

 

 

Bulma wiped sweat off her brow absentmindedly as she admired her work. It was only a glorified  transformer, her own design, intended to regulate the power that had been shorting out some non-vital components, but it was these little details that gave her more confidence in their plan. If only they had a way to test it she might actually sleep a little easier. Then again, at least now when she couldn’t sleep she had something to do. She smiled to herself, and touched her face briefly where she last remembered being kissed by him.

Her reverie was broken by the sound of the lab door swooshing open. She looked up with a smile, expecting to see the man she’d only just been thinking of but her smile faded quickly as the hairs on her neck stood on end at the sight of Zarbon.

He was a big man, she noticed, practically filling the whole doorway. She supposed she’d never noticed it before because he was so effeminate, but beneath that well groomed veneer she now saw only coldness, like a reptile.

“I thought I’d find you here, F-735-CCB.”

His words, like his person, were only innocent on the surface, and her hands began to shake as her body released adrenaline into her system.

“I was just leaving.” She said with deceptive calmness, leaning forward to slip the shuttle component unseen into her tunic pocket. “I don’t want to miss dinner.”

“You really ought to have been there at least an hour ago.” He replied, swanning into the lab. The door slid shut behind him and Bulma felt a slow, creeping sense of foreboding. She was in trouble, the only question was why.

“I was just testing a few things in here, and tidying up.”

“On your rest day?”

“Yeah.” She purposefully avoided eye contact and as he moved further into the room she slowly moved around the counter, trying to keep it between them.

“That seems unlikely.” He moved silently, smoothly and with purpose. Like a predator, she thought.

“I’m sort of known for it.” She tried to shrug nonchalantly with limited success. “I get bored.”

“I see, the usual amusements aren’t enough for you then?” He was staring directly at her, hardly blinking and with a fixed smile that sent chills up her spine. “And I thought we’d stocked the leisure facilities rather generously for our workers. I suppose our beneficence is beneath you. That’s alright, you have another form of entertainment these days, or so I hear.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t you want to know how I knew you’d be here this evening?”

Bulma said nothing, the mounting fear gripping her muscles and paralysing her.

“Lord Freeza’s private communication network is not for frivolous use, young lady.”

Her blood ran cold. She looked desperately at the door, trying to decide whether to attempt an escape. It was pointless, he was too strong and too fast, she was out of options and he knew it.

“Relax, I’m the only important person who knows. You covered your tracks very well. If it weren’t for the constant monitoring of our dear Prince Vegeta’s scouter by my little elves I probably wouldn’t have noticed at all.” He laughed as her face coloured with mortification. “I’m not here to punish you for that, not yet anyway. I just came for a little chat.”

“I really ought to be getting to dinner.”

“Trust me, a full belly is the least of your worries right now.”

He was between her and the door now, and he’d manoeuvred so subtly that she hadn’t noticed him cut her off until it was too late. She took an involuntary step back.

“Have you noticed a difference in Director Vegeta lately?” He asked her, his voice smooth as syrup.

“I-in what way?” She stammered.

“Oh I don’t know, more ...confident, satisfied,  _ insubordinate _ .” Zarbon snarled the last word. “I wouldn’t go as far as to use the word ‘happy’, but he’s certainly showing symptoms of it. His work output has suffered too. Would you happen to know anything about that?”

“I’m just a research assistant,” she objected desperately, “what the Director does is none of my-”

“Don’t be coy with me, Earthling. Or may I call you Ms Briefs?”

“I don’t think I get much of a say in what you call me.” She muttered before she could stop herself.

“Oh that delightful  _ mouth _ of yours,” he chuckled heartily, “Even by yourself, with no witnesses, and no-one to defend you, you’re still ready to sass your superiors. Is that what he likes about you?” He added in a darker tone, stepping towards her and forcing her to back away from the counter towards the wall.

“You’ve got the wrong idea-”

“Or is it this smooth skin, or this odd shade of hair?” She flinched as he raised a well manicured finger and stroked her cheek appraisingly. “Perhaps it really is just your genius, as I’m well informed that our scientists have been  _ blown away _ by your contributions. Tell me, what is your secret?”

“N-nothing, I-I don’t have any secrets.”

“Oh I think you do.” He was inches from her now, staring at her with those cold, calculating eyes. “And I intend to find out what they are. How is it, with no rank, just a little beauty and a lot of attitude you have gotten your claws into Prince Vegeta and left such a mark? He’s a different man, no matter how hard to he tries to hide it, and I think I want a taste of whatever medicine he’s been taking.” He ceased stroking her face and grasped her chin uncomfortably in his hand, tilting her face up to the light.

“I’m just trying to do my work, please, that’s all I’m trying to do. Just let me go.”

Zarbon ignored her. “No doubt you’ve heard that Vegeta and I don’t see eye to scouter? You see, he took something of mine from me. Now I intend to take something of his. Lights! Dim.”

The room responded to his voice command and Bulma, through her fear, felt a strange abstraction as she noticed his pupils widen in the darkened room. She still felt it - though she trembled and fought back terrified tears - as he gripped her by the back of the neck and thrust her forward, bending her roughly over her own workstation. She’d told Vegeta she was staying late. He would see her on his scouter still in the lab and he would think nothing was amiss. Desperately she scraped her wrist against the side of the counter, trying unsuccessfully to remove her tracker to raise the alarm, but without being able to reach it with her other hand it was useless. Then she shuddered as she felt Zarbon’s lips disgustingly close to her ear.

“Do you find that upstart troll more desirable than me? The funny thing is, I don't even find you attractive.” Her only response was a hopeless sob as she felt his free hand reach to loosen the back of her clothing. He re-positioned himself to be behind her. “No, this isn't about you. You have your  _ prince  _ to thank for this.”

 

* * *

 

 

Vegeta checked his scouter yet again, just to be sure. He smirked as he imagined the look on her face when he entered unannounced, toting dinner. He was fairly certain this dish was unknown to her, and as she broadened his horizons he liked to reciprocate in some way. Thus far his efforts had extended to expanding her knowledge of the galaxy’s cuisine, and the occasional insight into his own heritage.

That was something that always interested her, and something he’d never openly discussed with anyone else. He’d always resolved to leave his past where it was, but lately she’d been eking little details out of him, either about his people, planet or upbringing. It amazed him to no end to notice he’d been talking for several minutes before even realising what he’d been led to discuss. That was something that had attracted him to her from the evening they’d spent together in the lab, after his fight with Zarbon. That was a skill all her own, that ability to loosen his tongue, in more ways than one. He closed his eyes fighting a momentary urge to laugh. His cheeks were warm and he realised he’d made himself blush. Such foolishness, he thought to himself, and yet as was more and more often the case he couldn’t muster the energy to feel bad about it.

Was he getting soft? The thought had popped up a few times without a satisfying answer. He had certainly felt more mellow in himself, though he had made every effort not to let it show to others. Not even Bulma realised the true extent of her impact on him, at least he hoped not. She’d become such a fixture in his life and his routine. No more were the days of mechanically ghosting through a routine, having nothing more fulfilling than the mediocre satisfaction of a well-organised work day. No longer did he watch his own life slipping through his fingers day by day without anything to show for it. Now he even rushed through his tasks, sometimes doing just the bare minimum so he could reach the sanctuary of their apartment and bask in her conversation and warmth.

‘One day’ was regularly discussed. ‘One day’ he’d take her to the lesser moon of Kanthos and show her the diamond lakes. ‘One day’ he’d get his own ship again and she could take a legitimate role as his chief science advisor in the relative freedom of space. ‘One day’ they’d get themselves commissioned to a minor outpost somewhere on the frontier and live publicly, as equals. It was a day that would probably never come, but they fantasized together and, after he’d made a decent show of pointing out the hopelessness of such wishes, it had become one of his chief pleasures.

He wondered if his life had been interesting in any other way if his affections could have been engaged like this. It was stupid in reality, like taking his own armour and drilling a huge hole in it right over his heart and defying the world to strike him down. There was only so much he could do to protect her, and the more he grew to care about her the more he felt the weakness.

He shook his head, his urge to smile having dissipated with this depressing train of thought. To hell with it, he thought, what point was there in worrying himself sick over an uncertain future? He would live from day-to-day as he had before, and just deal with whatever came. In the meantime he was contented with learning what it was to have a woman. He checked his scouter again, amusing himself by also searching for her power level to see if he were close enough to pick up her weak signal.

Vegeta froze in his tracks.

Bulma was not alone, and the power level that accompanied her tiny signature was huge, so huge in fact that only a handful of fighters on the base could own it. He started walking again, then before he knew it he was running, at full speed, knocking over a passing worker as he tore blindly through the corridors and when he reached Ala’s lab he didn’t wait for the door to slide open for him but forced it open with violence.

He didn’t know what he’d expected to find, but Zarbon’s leering smirk was the very first thing he saw, followed immediately by the most grotesque tableau he could have imagined. It was worse than a nightmare, and as Zarbon continued to lower his shorts, unperturbed by Vegeta’s presence, he looked him dead in the eye and gave him a sickening, fanged grin.

“Did you come to watch?”

Vegeta heard Bulma shriek in terror as he launched himself from the doorway and lunged straight at Zarbon, leaping over her to do it. His first blow connected with Zarbon’s shocked face, his second swinging round to punch him in the neck. He kicked out with both feet and Zarbon, his expression frozen in shock as he gasped for breath, crashed away from Bulma and smashing straight through the back wall, into the adjoining room.

He didn’t let up, pursuing Zarbon through the hole in the lab wall and pummelling him so hard that his victim began to sink into the rubble. There was no art, no thought involved in this attack. It was sheer, enraged animalism at its purest and it was plain to any onlooker that Zarbon had not bargained for it. His shorts were still pulled down and were it not for the grossness of his intent Vegeta might have found this an amusing picture. As it was Vegeta had no thoughts to spare for anything that was not satisfying his bloodlust.

It took Zarbon far too long to start putting up his defence, and when he did Vegeta was still smashing through it, leaving him no opportunity to counter and, more importantly, no time to transform. Vegeta could just about hear Zarbon’s cries of pain over the blood rushing in his ears. It was not sustainable however, and soon Zarbon was able to avail himself of an opening, darting a ki charged fist between Vegeta’s blows towards his scouter.

Vegeta caught it in his own. He squeezed. Zarbon screeched in agony as Vegeta twisted his fist round, bending Zarbon’s wrist to breaking point while still rhythmically pounding at Zarbon with his free hand.

“How?!”

In lieu of an answer, Vegeta brought his arm down fully and heard the satisfying crunch of bone grinding against bone, and Zarbon’s screams. Then, without further pause he drove his fist straight into Zarbon’s unguarded belly. As expected, Zarbon’s largely ornamental armour shattered and Vegeta wound back his fist for a second punch. It hit with a sickening wetness.

There was a pause, then a high pitched scream from Zarbon as he realised that Vegeta’s fist was now inside of him. It lasted as long as it took for Vegeta to unleash the most undisciplined ki attack he’d ever executed and Zarbon disappeared into a halo of light and disintegrating viscera. So did almost everything in the next room.

Vegeta rose to his feet quickly, the gloved hand that had just killed one of his hated enemies flexing open and closed unconsciously. What was left of Zarbon twitched in the debris, collecting dust as it flaked from the ruined wall. He stepped back slightly. He didn’t understand what had just happened, or how. All he knew was that his body felt like it was on fire and being electrocuted at the same time and yet it didn’t hurt. His bestial rage had comandeered his physical form, not dissimilarly to his fight with Cui. Only this time it was somehow purer, and more intense.

He felt a hand touch his bicep lightly and he spun on his heel with his fist upraised and only narrowly prevented himself from striking Bulma full in the face.

“Wha- Bulma!” He cried as she flinched back from him. “No, wait, it’s ...it’s ok.”

She took control of herself with apparent difficulty and reached out to touch him. Her fingers were like little sparks on his skin and he forced himself to endure the touch, which became easier as the red mist slowly lifted. Then, like a lead weight, the cold reality of what he had done settled on them both.

He’d killed Zarbon, Freeza’s right-hand man. Zarbon was both under Freeza’s protection and above him in rank and he’d  _ killed him in broad daylight _ . Not only that, but he’d done it for a woman. He looked at her with horror. They were both going to die.


	22. Flight

 

_ “Stop it!” The young prince yelled as he laid into Radditz with both fists. The bigger boy held his arms up to protect himself but was struggling to see through his copious tears. _

_ “I - can’t-” _

_ “STOP IT!” He screamed. “STOP CRYING!” _

_ Forced backwards by Vegeta’s enraged onslaught, Radditz lost his footing and went down. Still his prince did not relent. He lifted his knees to create a barrier between them but Vegeta just stepped around him and continued his attack from the side. _

_ “Vegeta, please!” He leaned back on one arm while lifting the other to defend. “I can’t help it!” _

_ “You’re not - even - TRYING!” The prince spat between punches. _

_ “I don’t WANT TO!” Radditz kicked out in grief and fury and, for the first time in their friendship, retaliated with the entirety of his strength. It did little to damage Vegeta, for though smaller he was by every other measure the stronger fighter, but it surprised him. Radditz clambered to his feet, swinging his own fists. “They’re dead, Vegeta! They’re all dead!” _

_ “Shut up!” _

_ “No! I won’t!” Radditz’s fist smacked harmlessly against Vegeta’s hastily raised defence, but he saw him take a slight step back. “They’re all dead! Our parents, our families, our planet - all gone!” _

_ Vegeta’s fury made him inarticulate, and his reply to this was an incomprehensible scream of hate and pain. The slight advance that Radditz had made was swiftly reversed and Vegeta gave himself completely over to the violence of his emotions. _

_ The message had come down through their scouters not long before this fight had begun. They were heading towards their pods after a successful purge when their scouters had alerted them: Planet Vegeta, the message said, has been destroyed by an unexpected asteroid strike. Outdated defence technology had been blamed, specifically satellites and other detection systems. They landed and stood stunned for several minutes. _

_ Vegeta felt nothing at first, then slowly a drip feed of grief and disbelief started to fill him as the full ramifications of the information sunk in. His home, his father, his siblings, all gone in an instant. He would never see any of them again. _

_ And then Radditz had started to cry. _

_ He couldn’t say precisely what it was about his comrade’s suffering that made him so angry, but his sharp demand for Radditz to desist had rapidly devolved into a fistfight between the boys or, more accurately, a beating. And as their fight progressed Vegeta became less and less rational, until Radditz began to fear for his life. _

_ “Vegeta, enough!” He pleaded, but was ignored. It was then he realised with an indefinable horror that his Prince, in spite of his objections, was also crying. _

_ “Us fighting won’t bring them back-” _

_ “SHUT YOUR MOUTH!” Vegeta swung his fist round and hit Radditz squarely in the jaw, snapping his head around and knocking him to the floor. He stood over him, panting, waiting for him to move. _

_ “Get up.” He ordered, oblivious to his sweat and tears mingling and dripping from his chin. Radditz only groaned in response. “You low class piece of shit,  _ get up _!” He punctuated this with a kick to the side that Radditz took with grunt. _

_ Radditz just laid there, conscious of his prince but no longer caring about his immediate safety. The dusty ground stuck to the tears on his face, turning them into mud. He closed his eyes in defeat and waited for whatever viciousness Vegeta wanted to enact upon him. _

_ “Get up…” Vegeta sobbed pitifully. He raised a fist weakly but his legs failed him and he collapsed to his knees, the half open fist slapping painlessly onto Radditz’s leg. Wisely he chose to remain silent as his prince finally gave in to his tears. _

 

* * *

 

 

The shuttle. She had to get to the shuttle. It was her only thought as she hurtled through the corridors, pulling Vegeta behind her. They’d been running for no more than thirty seconds before the alarms had started blaring, and the tannoy echoed through the halls:

ATTENTION ALL SECURITY PERSONNEL. ROGUE ASSETS IN SECTOR 2.4A. ATTENTION ALL SECURITY PERSONNEL-

_ Ala! _

_ I know! I’m coming! _

She turned a corner and the exit to the third circle came into sight and she flew towards it unthinkingly, just in time to greet the upheld blasters held by the soldiers marching towards them. It was over in a flash; Vegeta was in front of her, his hand glowing and the bodies of the unfortunate first responders smoking in the corridor.

“Come on,” he ordered, reaching back for her hand and pulling her in the wrong direction, “we need to get to one of pods-”

“No!” Bulma cried, pulling back. “We have to get to hangar nine!”

“What? No-one uses that hangar, it’s a junkyard!”

“I know, please, you have to trust me.”

They stared at each other for what felt like an impossibly long time, though in reality was barely a couple of seconds, Bulma’s eyes wide with entreaty against Vegeta’s narrowed suspicion.

“Ok,” he gripped her hand firmly, “but I’m leading. Stay behind me.”

She didn’t need to be told twice, ducking behind him just in time to avoid a hail of blaster fire from a newly arrived squadron of Freeza soldiers. Vegeta ran directly into their fire, his forearm upraised and deflecting the relatively weak laser blasts, and dispatched two of the terrified fighters in the blink of an eye. The remaining soldiers broke formation and scattered. Vegeta let them flee, and again reached for Bulma before setting off at a break-neck pace towards the next exit. By now the corridors were completely empty as the non-military inhabitants of HQ1 hid themselves. The lights dimmed and the halls filled with pulsing red light that glowed in time with the alarms.

ATTENTION ALL CLASS ONE SECURITY PERSONNEL. ROGUE ASSETS IN SECTOR 3.1A. THREAT LEVEL: RED. ATTENTION ALL-

“Dammit, they’re tracking us!” He yelled over the noise of the alarms. “It’s my scouter!”

“No!” Bulma panted. “Can’t be! I disabled that function!”

“What? When?!”

She was saved from answering by the arrival of a third squadron, this one considerably better equipped. The breath was crushed from her lungs as Vegeta thrust her flat against the wall to avoid their fire, and as she struggled to get it back she heard, rather than saw, the demise of this latest batch of unfortunate soldiers.

“Fuck!” Vegeta snarled, his hand involuntarily reaching up to his scouter. “At least you didn’t disable my comms. They’re recalling the Ginyu Force from the orbital ship. We’ve got ten minutes, if that - we have to move!”

_ Ala, where are you? _ She cried out mentally in desperation.

_ Coming, child! I’ll see you at the hangar - stay with the Saiyan! _

She’d have to be insane not to, she thought, gulping down her terror and managing to draw breath again. He pulled her along faster than she could run, and it was all she could do to remain upright.

Vegeta made a sharp turn where they should have exited for the fourth circle and they began to race along the outer perimeter of the third circle instead.

“You missed the exit!” She almost shrieked.

“Too many soldiers!” He explained brusquely. “And this way is shorter - inner circles are smaller!”

He was right, the fourth circle would be lousy with soldiers, so he was instead running the shorter circumference of the third circle to take the exit closest to hangar nine. She clung on to his arm with both hands, her feet now barely making contact with the floor.

Three more soldiers burst into view just as they passed a junction and Vegeta pushed her backwards away from the fight, then shouldered one to the floor before blasting the remaining two. Without a thought she snatched up a dropped blaster while Vegeta made sure their assailants wouldn’t be getting up again.

“Do you know how to use that?” Vegeta snapped. She nodded. “Fine, watch our backs then.”

He grabbed her again and they practically flew to the exit. They were barely halfway through the connecting walkway into the fourth circle before Vegeta turned mid-stride and flung an energy ball at the structural supports, collapsing the tunnel behind them. He then spun and without looking fired an explosive ki blast directly in front of them, scattering the Freeza soldiers who awaited them there. He used the precious seconds he’d bought to pull down a thick metal beam and its attached blast-proof sheeting, and thrust Bulma with her blaster behind it.

“Stay there, don’t move until I say!”

Then he was gone. Behind her the collapsed tunnel was impassable and in front of her were hastily scrambled lines of highly trained Freeza soldiers. Her goal of escape was looking increasingly desperate.

_ What now?  _ She asked, frantically searching for Ala’s mind.  _ How are you going to get there? _

_ I’m already in the circle.  _ Ala sounded thin, like she was stretched mentally.  _ Tell your Saiyan to keep fighting, I’m misdirecting as many susceptible soldiers as I can! _

The sounds of fighting could be heard just past her makeshift shelter and she fingered the blaster in her hands. It was small, lightweight, made for fast paced close combat. It was the sort of thing a soldier would carry as standard and it had a stun setting that would effectively drop any opponents for several minutes. She gripped it more firmly and held it up to her face, slowing her breathing as she steeled herself grimly. After all, she’d always been a  _ fantastic _ shot. She held her breath and popped out of cover.

Vegeta didn’t even notice the two soldiers that she knocked out with her first shots, the third however he couldn’t miss and he glanced back momentarily to see where the blast had come from. Their eyes met for a split second before she ducked back under cover. There were only two left of the approximate dozen that had greeted them, so she trusted them to him. Sure enough she heard the unmistakable ‘thud-thud’ of two bodies hitting the ground followed by his quick, light step returning to her. She darted out of the cover and swapped her pistol blaster for a larger, more versatile weapon.

ATTENTION ALL CLASS ONE SECURITY PERSONNEL. ROGUE ASSETS IN SECTOR 3.4-

“Dammit do as you’re told!” He said, grabbing her wrist.

“You’re welcome!” She snapped back as they re-commenced their perilous race through the corridors. They were mostly unaccosted from there to the hangar, and those security officers they did encounter fled on seeing them, almost as terrified as Bulma herself. “My scouter’s showing a large group of soldiers at hangar twelve,” Vegeta informed her with his brow furrowed, “and nothing ahead. Hangar nine is clear.”

She surmised that Ala had been using her abilities to confuse the soldiers and send them to a different location. She nodded that he’d heard him but then he stopped dead, the corridor in both directions clear. She bumped into him in surprise.

“This smells like a trap.” He turned his penetrating eye on her. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“It’s not a trap.” Bulma assured him. “There’s a shuttle in hangar nine, ready to fly. I just need to get to it.”

“How do you know that?” He asked sharply.

“We haven’t got time for this right now! Please, trust me!”

He stared at her a moment longer, but she was right and he knew it. He continued on, pushing Bulma in front as they reached the hangar.

“It’s empty.” He told her. “You lead, I’ll cover our backs.”

She nodded and, hefting her rifle just in case, burst through the hangar doors. A quick scan verified Vegeta’s scouter data.

“There it is!” She pointed at her shuttle, parked innocently in bay six and already loaded onto its slingshot style launchpad. They had prepared for this possible eventuality. She made a beeline for it, with Vegeta close behind.

_ Ala, we’re here. Where are you? _

_ I’m on my way, but there are obstacles. Prep the shuttle to leave, I will get to you. _

Slinging the rifle strap across her shoulder, Bulma skidded to a halt at the shuttle and punched in the access code. They’d rigged it to look like the access software was malfunctioning, rather than code-secured, so if any random maintenance worker was trying to inspect the craft they’d find a shuttle so old and broken the doors didn’t even work. A stroke of genius on her part.

“Can that thing even fly?” Vegeta demanded in shock.

“Yes! Well, in theory - just come on!” She ordered, leaping straight into the shuttle. It was about the size of a bungalow. Vegeta followed her, but stayed in the doorway, facing the hangar entrance.

“More Freeza soldiers are on their way, and they are definitely coming in this direction.” He declared grimly. “They must be tracking us through the security cameras. I’ll guard the entrance. You get this thing off the ground!”

She didn’t need his orders, as she was already pressing buttons and throwing switches. The component in her tunic pocket bumped gently against her leg as she moved around the cockpit and she whipped it out, sliding it into the new console that was waiting to be installed. It was that moment that she heard the first of the Freeza soldiers pile into the hangar. Vegeta leapt into action.

“Concentrate, Bulma…” She muttered to herself, trying to focus on what she was doing rather than the fighting that was happening just metres away. The power took a while to come online, a common problem with these older models. The launch gear was dragging its feet too.

“Come on, come on, come on…” She whispered, watching the little progress bar climb in the corner of the console screen. Finally, after a stomach-churning wait, it filled and she was presented with Ala’s system screen, the part of the operation that she had not been allowed to handle. Both the in-built CPU and the one waiting to be installed were pre-programmed by Ala personally with coordinates and flight instructions. Bulma could only affect this by manually piloting and even then only when the new CPU was installed. All she had to do was press the execute command and the shuttle would be launched by the energy slingshots through the open hangar ceiling and straight through the energy shields bubbling the compound and beyond through the atmospheric barrier. In theory.

_ Ala, we’re ready! The skylight is open, we have to go! _

_ I’m coming! _

There was still a pitched battle going on outside the shuttle, and Bulma grabbed her rifle to join it. She stood in the open doorway, relatively safe behind the shuttle’s one-way energy shields, and added her gunfire to the chaos.

And it  _ was  _ chaotic. Vegeta was cutting down soldiers at a tremendous pace, never staying in one place but drawing their fire all over the hangar. While they were so focussed on him they almost didn’t notice the Earthling picking off their ranged combatants on the observation deck until it was too late. Those that did saw their laser fire bounce harmlessly off the shields before Bulma returned their fire with gusto, making non-lethal strikes where she could. It didn’t take long to disable their attackers, but they both knew it wouldn’t be long before more of them poured in.

“Is it ready?” Vegeta yelled, flying back to her impatiently. Now he was close up she was disturbed to notice blood seeping round the edge of his scouter casing. It looked like the casing had been ruptured by an impact, but she didn’t have time now to deal with it.

“Nearly.” Bulma hesitated, her eyes flicking between his injury to the hangar entrance.

“Nearly? What are we waiting for?”

At that moment Ala came hurtling into the hangar, her robes held slightly aloft for ease of running.

“Her!” Bulma cried triumphantly.

_ Set the launch code, I’ll be onboard in- _

Ala never finished the thought. It all seemed to happen in slow-motion, even though realistically it was a fraction of a second. There was movement among the bodies, specifically the ones on the upper landing that Bulma had been responsible for, and a lone soldier, one side of his head caked in blood, rose unsteadily to his feet. Half blind and clearly concussed, he lifted his blaster shakily and fired at the only target his bloodied eyes could make out, the tall robed figure running across the lower landing towards the shuttle. Bulma’s grin transformed into a silent scream of horror as the laser beam burst through Ala’s forehead in a shower of black blood. Her legs continued to run for another two paces in a grotesque puppetry before her advanced nervous system caught up and she folded like a dropped towel; first her knees hit the dusty, neglected hangar floor, and then the rest of her.

Bulma lifted her rifle and, screaming, unloaded the entirety of the blaster’s current charge into the body of the unfortunate soldier, who toppled backwards over the railings from the force of her attack and landed as a crumpled mess on the floor.

An eerie silence fell between her and Vegeta as they both stared at the bleeding mound that had moments ago been a Freeza soldier and Ala’s body laying mere feet away from him. She wanted to run to Ala, to cry, to find some way to undo what had just happened but she knew from the moment Ala’s consciousness had disappeared from her mind that it was hopeless. Ala was dead.

“Get in.” She snapped to Vegeta, sprinting from the entrance to the cockpit. She gave only a momentary glance to ensure he was onboard before hitting the launch command. The door began to hiss shut just as more Freeza soldiers poured into the hangar with guns blazing. She ignored them completely.

“Was that Ala?!” Vegeta demanded.

“Yes. Now shut up, sit down, and strap in.” Bulma ordered. He complied, her tone allowing for no other outcome.

Her mind was in revolt. Her best friend on this entire frigid planet was dead, and it was increasingly likely that they were about to be too, and hysteria lurked on the edges of her brittle sanity. She couldn’t afford to lose her composure now, but Ala had made this step entirely automated which gave her nothing to focus on and it was only by sheer force of will that Bulma was able to keep herself under control.

She glanced towards Vegeta, who took the co-pilot’s seat and had just buckled his safety harness as the nose of the shuttle tipped sharply upwards. They could see Planet Cold’s thin cloud cover through the skylight above the shuttle. Then, without a countdown or any other warning, the energy slingshot system of the launchpad engaged and they were flung into the open air.

 

* * *

 

 

He had many, many questions, and as the adrenaline began to wear off and his forebrain regained control Vegeta was increasingly impatient to ask them. He was also becoming aware of the increasingly unpleasant stinging at the site of his new facial injury. A freak hit from a blaster had lifted the casing unexpectedly, tearing the skin underneath. It wasn’t a serious injury but it was beginning to hurt like hell.

They were hurtling towards the energy barrier that protected the compound, the thrusters kicking in just as the momentum from the launchpad began to drop off, and as the barrier approached it occurred to him that as they were about to be disintegrated by the first line of terrestrial defences his questions probably didn’t matter all that much. Most crafts could pass through the barrier without difficulty thanks to the nicknamed “bubble system” of interactive shields, but that had been introduced long after this old piece of junk had been decommissioned.

“Hold on!” Bulma ordered. A calm sense of inevitability washed over him, and though convinced that he was about to die he didn’t feel afraid. At most he felt relieved on some level that at least it would all be over, and also weirdly impressed that Bulma had gotten them this far into an escape. Still, he obeyed and held on, and marvelled as their shield touched the barrier and passed through it.

“...What?” He asked, stunned. “How?”

She didn’t answer, she was staring grimly ahead. Most likely she was thinking about the satellite defences they now needed to pass through. They broke through the wispy cloud cover into the upper atmosphere and as the air friction began to boil the thick outer casing of the shuttle he realised that nothing was shooting at them.

“Why aren’t the satellites engaging?”

“We’re masked.” She replied. “The turrets are unmanned, automated. We wrote a trojan horse that should tell them we’re friendly and not a target.”

There was the sound of an impact and the ship rocked alarmingly, oxygen masks dropping from the overheads.

“Not that we were able to test it. Hold on, we’re nearly clear of the atmosphere.” She shouted grimly over the shuttle’s warning alarms. As far as he could tell the shields had tanked up the damage but they couldn’t take more than a handful of hits like that.

“What happens when we clear the atmosphere?” He yelled back, and she grinned darkly.

“Light speed.”

“In this?! Bulma are you mad?! This shuttle wasn’t designed for-”

They burst out of the upper layer and into open space. Through the observation window Vegeta could clearly make out the orbital defences, and while many ignored them, a small number began to turn and lumber in their direction. The nearest turned its ion cannons towards them.

“Bulma if you’re gonna do something you need to do it now!”

“Well if you say so.” She said, grabbing what he now recognised as a light speed shift grafted on to the console. “Grab onto something!”

He did, gripping his seat and the nearest edge of the console as she threw the switch. For a moment everything crawled to a stop; just inches from the observation window an ion beam was sizzling against the energy shields, frozen in a moment of time as the ship started its light speed jump. He’d never experienced light travel in a vessel as small as this before, and he tightened his grip in an effort to suppress his terror.

Without warning he was flattened, or at least that’s what it felt like. It was like g-force pressure, only he felt it from both directions as the little ship launched itself through wrinkled space time and worm-holed away to the gods only knew where. They were going so fast that the light from adjacent stars couldn’t reach their eyes and either side of the observation window showed only the blackest of voids, while in front of them was a frightening blur of fluctuating light as they hurtled through the paths of millenia-old light waves. He couldn’t breath, he couldn’t move, he could only hold and and pray to gods he’d long stopped believing in to keep their tiny maintenance shuttle in one piece.

And then it was over. They came to a creaking stop, the shuttle shuddering so violently that Vegeta wondered if it had been a malfunction. He held his breath, expecting any moment for the shuttle to implode, but Bulma was already up and out of her seat and booting up a second console that he'd overlooked in the furore. He risked a glance out of the window and saw with some trepidation that they’d halted just on the edge of an asteroid belt.

“Ok now I need your help. If you wanna live then do exactly what I say.” She said, hurriedly squeezing under the cockpit controls and apparently disconnecting everything in sight. “On my word, I need you to lift this thing and put it in the airlock, ok?”

“Fine.”

“Alright…  _ now! _ ”

He pulled the console away, expecting far more resistance but seeing with surprise that most of the fittings had been removed and it was only some dangling wires and adhesive stripping keeping it together. The cock-pit started wailing alarms. As instructed he maneuvered it gingerly out of the cockpit and dumped it in the airlock.

“Now help me shift this!” She shouted from the cockpit where he could see she was attaching the cables to the new console with all possible haste. He darted back to her and, following her guidance, helped her to install the new CPU while she muttered frantically under breath.

“Alright so in theory this should go here and then this thing should do this and ...bingo!”

The alarms ceased and the console lit up, but the central screen had only a single command option to display.

“Perfect!” Bulma declared, her expression intense.

“It’s not working, look at your command screen-” He tried to point out, but she had already left the cockpit and nipped into the airlock. He followed her, completely in the dark and beginning to have to wrestle with his temper. “Bulma what are you doing?!”

“Setting the timer on these boosters.” She said flatly, and sure enough right there under the console there were two rocket boosters with their red lights flashing.

“I get it.” He said, impressed in spite of himself. “You’re gonna jettison the old console, send it in the wrong direction so that HQ1 can’t trace us.”

“And even better,” she replied, jumping out of thee airlock and wiping her forehead with her sleeve, “they’ll waste time chasing down that old thing thanks to the on-board tracking system, and they’ll find it in that asteroid field. Hopefully they’ll think we wrecked in there too.”

“They’ll see the boosters.” Vegeta countered, following Bulma back to the cockpit.

“Hopefully not, they’re programed to detach once the console is at terminal velocity.”

“Genius.” He muttered. “And this console?”

“Pre-programmed by-” She stopped a moment, looked hard at the console screen and swallowed a few times. “Pre-programmed by Ala. It’ll take us where we need to go. She designed it so that it can’t be manually operated unless we hit real trouble.”

“Trouble like…?”

“Collision with space debris, close proximity to a Freeza ship, that sort of thing.”

“So where is it programmed to take us?” He asked, his eye narrowed suspiciously. 

“I wasn’t allowed to know.” She said, looking down at the console. Her fist was clenching and unclenching with suppressed emotion.

There was a moment’s silence, during which he really started to take in his surroundings. The cockpit, with its two seats and the central gangway that led to the airlock were, apart from the additions he’d already seen, pretty standard, but there were things he wanted check. Thoughts had begun to occur to him of an unsatisfactory nature.

“Do you need me?”

“Not right now.” Bulma said, lifting her hand to the console to execute the waiting command. “Just steer clear of the airlock.”

He nodded and retreated down the gangway towards the rear of the ship. The airlock snapped shut as he passed it and he saw the console get sucked out into space, turning aimlessly before the rockets sputtered to life and it flew out of his sight. Good riddance, he thought, continuing through to a side door. It opened into the living quarters. These ships were built for short haul trips to repair orbital crafts and didn’t require living accommodations so he could safely assume that this was an addition by Bulma and Ala. Two beds, he noted. His face was stinging painfully.

After a quick investigation he concluded that this must have been the storage area, hence the space to fit two cramped bunks. There was a metal cupboard adjacent to the bed and he opened it with morbid curiosity. It contained rations, enough he estimated to last two humanoids maybe four cycles at most.

“How long until we get wherever the hell we’re going?” He shouted from the living area, trying hard to keep his voice even.

“Just under two cycles.” She shouted back, sounding exhausted.

“What about rations?”

“Don’t worry, we packed enough to last twice that long, just in case.”

He closed his eye and breathed through his nose, his grip on the metal door so tight that he left a dent.

“Is everything ok back there?”

He closed the metal cupboard slowly and emerged from the back of the ship. He stood at the entrance of the cockpit and stared at her. It was like he’d never seen her before.

“Oh christ, your scouter.” She said, rising from the pilot’s seat. “Let me have a look at-”

“You’re Resistance.”

She froze immediately, staring at him in silence.

“Well?” He demanded, his fists shaking.

“I figured that was kind of obvious at this point?” She tried to joke. Her humour only made him angrier.

“When were you planning to tell me?”

“I hadn’t worked that part out yet.”

“How long have you and Ala been planning this?”

She shifted uncomfortably. “Almost as soon as you put me in her lab ...the second console was my idea-”

“All this time you were lying to me.” He said, hardly able to believe the words coming out of his own mouth. He pressed his lips together, fighting the urge to be sick while trying to overcome the dull pain that was settling in his heart. “All these months, everything you did, it was all a lie.”

“Wait Vegeta, you don’t-”

“No! Shut your lying, fucking mouth!” He hissed, hitting the doorframe with his fist. “I can’t believe I let you fool me for so long. It all seems so obvious now.”

“Vegeta please-” she began tearfully, but he didn’t let her finish.

“You were using me all along. I was your cover. You’ve been planning to leave me and escape with Ala this whole time, only your plan went off the fucking rails so you used me again to get out.” He ran his fingers through his hair, resisting the urge to grip it and tear it out. “I was never meant to be on this escape ship.” 

“You’ve got it wrong!”

“Oh have I?” He snarled, looking her dead in the eye. “You planned to escape with Ala, did you not? You’ve installed two bunks, and brought enough rations for two humanoids only. We both know you were  _ never  _ going to tell me. What was the plan? To leave in the middle of the night? No, you’re too smart for that. You’d simply leave one day for work and never come back. By the time you were missed it would be too late.”

“That’s not true-!”

“Shut up!” He bellowed, his fury mounting and smothering his agony. “I will never listen to you again, you Resistance whore!”

She stared at him in apparent shock and hurt, though now he could only credit  _ that _ to her acting skills.

“You sold yourself for my protection, and even worse than that you tried to convince me that you cared about me.” He turned from her in disgust. “I cannot believe that I ever let someone like you get this _fucking_ _close_.”

She didn’t try to speak this time, but he could hear her ragged breaths as she cried silently. He had to give her kudos for her commitment to the role at least.

“What do you hope to achieve with those fake tears?” He raised a hand to cut off her attempt at protestation. “No, you know what, I don’t even care. When this ship lands, assumedly on some gods-forsaken Resistance hell-hole, I’m taking the first ship I can find and getting as far away from you and from Freeza as I possibly fucking can. Until then don’t you dare to even speak to me or I swear to all the gods I will blow a hole in this fucking shuttle and kill us both.” With that he turned on his heel and disappeared into the living area, shutting the door behind him.

Left alone in the cockpit, Bulma sank into the pilot’s seat and wept.

**Author's Note:**

> http://saijanbulma.tumblr.com/  
> http://saijanbulma.deviantart.com/


End file.
